apped in
meditation.

"It is vanity to glorify in metal these false sages; their lies are
confounded, their souls are lost in hell, and even the famous Plato
himself, who filled the earth with his eloquence, now disputes with the
devils."

A slave opened the door, and seeing a man with bare feet standing on the
mosaic threshold, said to him roughly--

"Go and beg elsewhere, stupid monk, or I will drive you away with a
stick."

"Brother," replied the Abbott of Antinoe, "all that I ask is that you
conduct me to your master, Nicias."

The slave replied, more angrily than before--

"My master does not see dogs like you."

"My son," said Paphnutius, "will you please do what I ask, and tell your
master that I desire to see him.

"Get out, vile beggar!" cried the porter furiously; and he raised his
stick and struck the holy man, who, with his arms crossed upon his
breast, received unmovedly the blow, which fell full in his face, and
then repeated gently--

"Do as I ask you, my son, I beg."

The porter tremblingly murmured--

"Who is this man who is not afraid of suffering?"

And he ran and told his master.

Nicias had just left the bath. Two pretty slave girls were scraping him
with strigils. He was a pleasant-looking man, with a kind smile. There
was an expression of gentle satire in his face. On seeing the monk, he
rose and advanced with open arms.

"It is you!" he cried, "Paphnutius, my fellow-scholar, my friend my
brother! Oh, I knew you again, though, to say the truth, you look more
like a wild animal than a man. Embrace me. Do you remember the time when
we studied grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy together? You were, even
then, of a morose and wild character, but I liked you because of your
complete sincerity. We used to say that you looked at the universe with
the eyes of a wild horse, and it was not surprising you were dull and
moody. You needed a pinch of Attic salt, but your liberality knew no
bounds. You cared nothing for either your money or your life. And you
had the eccentricity of genius, and a strange character which interested
me deeply. You are welcome, my dear Paphnutius, after ten years of
absence. You have quitted the desert; you have renounced all Christian
superstitions, and now return to your old life. I will mark this day
with a white stone."

"Crobyle and Myrtale," he added, turning towards the girls, "perfume the
feet, hands, and beard of my dear guest."

They smiled, and had a