ly you will say, 'Eucrites was
free.'"

The old man spoke, leaning against a porphyry pillar, his face lighted
by the first rays of dawn. Hermodorus and Marcus had approached, and
stood before him by the side of Nicias; and all four, regardless of the
laughter and cries of the drinkers, conversed on things divine. Eucrites
expresses himself so wisely and eloquently, that Marcus said--

"You are worthy to know the true God."

Eucrites replied--

"The true God is in the heart of the wise man."

Then they spoke of death.

"I wish," said Eucrites, "that it may find me occupied in correcting
my faults, and attentive to all my duties. In the face of death I will
raise my pure hands to heaven, and I will say to the gods, 'Your
images, gods, that you have placed in the temple of my soul, I have not
profaned; I have hung there my thoughts, as well as garlands, fillets,
and wreaths. I have lived according to your providence. I have lived
enough.'"

Thus speaking, he raised his arms to heaven, and he remained thoughtful
a moment. Then he continued, with extreme joy--

"Separate thyself from life, Eucrites, like the ripe olive which falls;
returning thanks to the tree which bore thee, and blessing the earth,
thy nurse."

At these words, drawing from the folds of his robe a naked dagger, he
plunged it into his breast.

Those who listened to him sprang forward to seize his hand, but the
steel point had already penetrated the heart of the sage. Eucrites had
already entered into his rest. Hermodorus and Nicias bore the pale and
bleeding body to one of the couches, amidst the shrill shrieks of the
women, the grunts of the guests disturbed in their sleep, and the heavy
breathing of the couples hidden in the shadow of the tapestry. Cotta,
an old soldier, who slept lightly, woke, approached the corpse, examined
the wound, and cried--

"Call Aristaeus, my physician!"

Nicias shook his head.

"Eucrites is no more," he said. "He wished to die as others wish to
love. He has, like all of us, obeyed his inexpressible desire. And, lo,
now he is like unto the gods, who desire nothing."

Cotta struck his forehead.

"Die! To want to die when he might still serve the State! What
nonsense!"

Paphnutius and Thais remained motionless and mute, side by side, their
souls overflowing with disgust, horror, and hope.

Suddenly the monk seized the hand of the actress, and stepping over the
drunkards, who had fallen close to the lascivi