Serapion held aloof. Excepting that he wore a beard and robe, his
appearance even had nothing in common with them; and his talar was not
like theirs, embroidered with hieroglyphics, tongues, and flames, but of
plain white stuff, which gave him the aspect of a learned and priestly
sage.

As Alexander, on his way through the temple to fulfill Caesar's
commission, went past the Magian, Castor, his supple accomplice, stole up
behind a statue, and, when the artist disappeared in the crowd, whispered
to his master:

"The rascally painter is at liberty!"

"Till further notice!" was the reply, and Serapion was about to give his
satellite some instructions, when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and
Zminis said in a low voice:

"I am glad to have found you here. Accusations are multiplying against
you, my friend; and though I have kept my eyes shut till now, that cannot
last much longer."

"Let us hope you are mistaken," replied the Magian, firmly. And then he
went on in a hurried whisper: "I know what your ambition is, and my
support may be of use to you. But we must not be seen together. We will
meet again in the instrument-room, to the left of the first stairs up to
the observatory. You will find me there."

"At once, then," said the other. "I am to be in Caesar's presence in a
quarter of an hour."