Basil laughed contemptuously, half angrily.

'We must look to our honours,' he exclaimed. 'If Chrysanthus be
ex-consul, can you and I be satisfied with less than
ex-Praetorian-Prefect? What will be the price, think you? Has Bessas
hung out a tariff yet in the Forum?'

'He knows better than to fix a maximum, as long as a wealthy fool
remains in the city--though that won't be much longer, I take it.'

'Why come you hither, dear my lord?' urged Basil, with more
seriousness.

Regarding him with a grave eye, his friend replied in an undertone:

'To spy upon you.'

'Ha!--In very truth?'

'You could wish me a more honourable office,' Marcian went on,
smiling sadly. 'Yet, if you think of it, in these days, it is some
honour to be a traitor to both sides. There has been talk of you in
Rome. Nay, who knows how or why l They have nothing to do but talk,
and these victories of the Goth have set up such a Greek cackle as
was never heard since Helen ran away to Troy,--and, talking of
Greek, I bear a letter for you from Heliodora.'

Basil, who had been listening gravely, started at this name and
uttered an idle laugh. From a wallet hanging at his girdle, Marcian
drew forth the missive.