Vestal, and subsequent transfer of ownership.

"What was the name of the young man who purchased you, eh?"
interpolated Pisander. "I didn't get it."

"Quintus Livius Drusus," replied Agias.

"Who?" cried the philosopher, starting up.

"Quintus Drusus, of Præneste," repeated the other.

"_Ai! Ai!_ In the name of Zeus!" cried Pisander, dropping the beaker,
and spilling the wine all over his threadbare himation. "Oh, such a
plot! Such a crime! Was ever anything so villanous ever heard of
before!"

"My dear Pisander," exclaimed Agias, all amazement, "what _is_ the
matter? Your speech is as obscure as Cinna's[92] poem called 'Zmyrna,'
which I've heard was ten years in being written, and must be very
fine, because no one can understand it. No more can I fathom you."

[92] A poet at that time of some little reputation.

"What a stroke of fortune!" raved the philosopher. "How we will be
revenged on that rascal, Pratinas! O Destiny, thy decrees are just!"

Again Agias expostulated, and at last brought out of Pisander a
tolerably coherent account of the conversation which he had heard
between Valeria and Pratinas. Then, indeed, the merry slave-boy was
troubled. Accustomed to a rather limited ambition in life, he had