great and wealthy nobles, beautiful and aristocratic women, was awarded
to the blind sculptor. He was pledged by every one who had admired his
Demeter, who compassionated his sad fate, or who desired to be agreeable
to him or his host.

Every kind remark about his person, his blindness, and his masterpiece
was repeated to him and, after the wine and the effort to attract
Daphne's attention and shine in the presence of his beautiful neighbour
had heated and winged his thoughts, he found an apt reply to each
noteworthy word.

When the dessert was finally eaten, and after sunset, in the brilliant
light of the lamps and candles, greater attention was paid to the mixing
vessels, all remained silent to listen to his fervid speech.

Glycera had asked him, at the beginning of the banquet, to tell her about
the attack in Tennis. Now he yielded to her wish that he should repeat
the captivating tale to the others, and the spirits of the wine helped
him to perform the task with such animation that his hearers listened to
his description in breathless suspense, and many eyes rested on the
handsome face of the great blind artist as if spellbound.

When he paused, loud applause rewarded him, and as it reached him from
every part of the spacious room, his deep, resonant voice put him in
communication even with the more distant guests, and he might have been
taken for the symposiarch or director of the banquet.

This conspicuous position of the feted artist did not please every one,
and a rhetorician, famed for his sharp tongue, whispered to his
neighbour, one of Hermon's older fellow-artists, "What his eyes have lost