s you the honour of choosing you for a
neighbour" and, before the sentence was finished, Archias himself seized
his arm and led him to the cushions at the side of the much-courted
beauty.

The guests began the banquet in a very joyous mood.

Greek gaiety, and the quick intellect and keen wit of the Alexandrians,
combined with the choicest viands of the luxurious capital, where the
wines and dainties of all the countries of the Mediterranean found
sellers and buyers, and the cook's vocation was developed into a fine
art, to spice this banquet with a hundred charms for the mind and
senses. To-day the principal place in this distinguished circle of
famous men, great and wealthy nobles, beautiful and aristocratic women,
was awarded to the blind sculptor. He was pledged by every one who had
admired his Demeter, who compassionated his sad fate, or who desired to
be agreeable to him or his host.

Every kind remark about his person, his blindness, and his masterpiece
was repeated to him and, after the wine and the effort to attract
Daphne's attention and shine in the presence of his beautiful neighbour
had heated and winged his thoughts, he found an apt reply to each
noteworthy word.

When the dessert was finally eaten, and after sunset, in the brilliant
light of the lamps and candles, greater attention was paid to the mixing
vessels, all remained silent to listen to his fervid speech.

Glycera had asked him, at the beginning of the banquet, to tell her
about the attack in Tennis. Now he yielded to her wish that he should
repeat the captivating tale to the others, and the spirits of the wine
helped him to perform the task with such animation that his hearers
listened to his description in breathless suspense, and many eyes rested
on the handsome face of the great blind artist as if spellbound.

When he paused, loud applause rewarded him, and as it reached him from
every part of the spacious room, his deep, resonant voice put him in
communication even with the more distant guests, and he might have been
taken for the symposiarch or director of the banquet.

This conspicuous position of the feted artist did not please every
one, and a rhetorician, famed for his sharp tongue, whispered to his
neighbour, one of Hermon's older fellow-artists, "What his eyes have
lost seems to benefit his tongue." The sculptor answered: "At any rate,
the impetuous young artist might succeed better in proving himself,
by its assistance, a good