which reminded Marius of the vein of coarseness he had found in the
"Golden Book." All this made the total impression he conveyed a very
uncommon one. Marius did not wonder, as he watched him speaking,
that people freely attributed to him many of the marvellous
adventures he had recounted in that famous romance, [86] over and
above the wildest version of his own actual story--his extraordinary
marriage, his religious initiations, his acts of mad generosity, his
trial as a sorcerer.

But a sign came from the imperial prince that it was time for the
company to separate. He was entertaining his immediate neighbours at
the table with a trick from the streets; tossing his olives in rapid
succession into the air, and catching them, as they fell, between his
lips. His dexterity in this performance made the mirth around him
noisy, disturbing the sleep of the furry visitor: the learned party
broke up; and Marius withdrew, glad to escape into the open air. The
courtesans in their large wigs of false blond hair, were lurking for
the guests, with groups of curious idlers. A great conflagration was
visible in the distance. Was it in Rome; or in one of the villages
of the country? Pausing for a few minutes on the terrace to watch
it, Marius was for the first time able to converse intimately with
Apuleius; and in this moment of confidence the "illuminist," himself
with locks so carefully arranged, and seemingly so full of
affectations, almost like one of those light women there, dropped a
veil as it were, and appeared, though still permitting the play of a
certain element of theatrical interest in his bizarre tenets, to be
ready to explain and defend his position reasonably. For a moment
his fantastic foppishness and his pretensions to ideal [87] vision
seemed to fall into some intelligible congruity with each other. In
truth, it was the Platonic Idealism, as he conceived it, which for