approached him. His head was bare and his fair, curly locks, growing
low upon his forehead, were now touched with gray. He looked up at the
two, his eyes blue, brilliant, piercing.

"My beloved Appius," said he, in a gentle tone, as he rose. "And
this--let me think--ah, it is Vergilius, the son of Varro."

"It is wonderful you should remember me," said Vergilius.

"Wonderful? No. I could tell your age, your misdeeds, your virtues,
and how often you failed to answer the roll-calls in Cappadocia. Well,
I dare say they were pretty girls. But I forget; I am to-day seeking
alms, my good children, for the poor of Rome. I am as ten thousand of
the hungry standing before you here and asking for bread. In their
name I shall receive, thankfully, what you may bestow."

Appius gave a handful of coins; Vergilius emptied his purse.

"'Tis not enough," said the latter. "Your words have touched me.
To-night I shall send five thousand denarii to your palace."

"Well given, noble youth! It is generous. I like it in you. Say that
I may have you to feast with me the first day before the ides--both of
you. Say that I may have you."

"We humbly wait your commands," said Vergilius, kissing his hand.

"Now tell me, handsome son of Varro, have you found no pretty girl to
your liking? Know you not, boy, 'tis time you married?" He held the
hand of the young knight and spoke kindly, his cunning eyes aglow, and