friendship had grown up for him, in that life of so few attachments--
the pure and disinterested friendship of schoolmates. He had seen
Flavian for the first time the day on which he had come to Pisa, at
the moment when his mind was full of wistful thoughts regarding the
new life to begin for him to-morrow, and he gazed curiously at the
crowd of bustling scholars as they came from their classes. There
was something in Flavian a shade disdainful, as he stood isolated
from the others for a moment, explained in part by his stature and
the distinction of the low, broad forehead; though there was
pleasantness also for the newcomer in the roving blue eyes which
seemed somehow to take a fuller hold upon things around than is usual
with boys. Marius knew that those proud glances made kindly note of
him for a moment, and felt something like friendship at first sight.
There was a tone of reserve or gravity there, amid perfectly
disciplined health, which, to his fancy, seemed to carry forward the
expression of the austere sky and the clear song of the blackbird on
that gray March evening. Flavian indeed was a creature who changed
much with the changes of the passing light and shade about him, and
was brilliant enough under the early sunshine in [50] school next
morning. Of all that little world of more or less gifted youth,
surely the centre was this lad of servile birth. Prince of the
school, he had gained an easy dominion over the old Greek master by
the fascination of his parts, and over his fellow-scholars by the
figure he bore. He wore already the manly dress; and standing there
in class, as he displayed his wonderful quickness in reckoning, or
his taste in declaiming Homer, he was like a carved figure in motion,
thought Marius, but with that indescribable gleam upon it which the
words of Homer actually suggested, as perceptible on the visible
forms of the gods--hoia theous epenenothen aien eontas.+