Paulus was fond of animals, and understood the little dog's language.
When Sirona's lips began to move and to recover their rosy color, he
stroked Iambe's smooth sharp head, and said, as he held a leaf that he
had curled up to hold some water to Sirona's lips, "Look, little fellow,
how she begins to enjoy it! A little more of this, and again a little
more. She smacks her lips as if I were giving her sweet Falernian. I
will go and fill the stone again; you stop here with her, I shall be back
again directly, but before I return she will have opened her eyes; you
are pleasanter to look upon than a shaggy old graybeard, and she will be
better pleased to see you than me when she awakes." Paulus' prognosis
was justified, for when he returned to Sirona with a fresh supply of
water she was sitting upright; she rubbed her open eyes, stretched her
limbs, clasped the greyhound in both arms, and burst into a violent flood
of tears.

The Alexandrian stood aside motionless, so as not to disturb her,
thinking to himself:

"These tears will wash away a large part of her suffering from her soul."

When at last she was calmer, and began to dry her eyes, he went up to
her, offered her the stone cup of water, and spoke to her kindly. She
drank with eager satisfaction, and ate the last bit of bread that he
could find in the pocket of his garment, soaking it in the water. She
thanked him with the childlike sweetness that was peculiar to her, and
then tried to rise, and willingly allowed him to support her. She was
still very weary, and her head ached, but she could stand and walk.

As soon as Paulus had satisfied himself that she had no symptoms Of
fever, he said, "Now, for to-day, you want nothing more but a warm mess