"He?" said an older centurion, shaking his scarred head. "Sooner would
I believe that the shouts of the populace were intended for the old woman
and not for the young one."

"Then a sycophant he is and will remain," said the Alexandrian with a
laugh. "For, as a matter of fact, it is the elder lady they are
greeting, and, by Heracles, she deserves it! She is the wife of the
high-priest of Serapis. There are few poor in this city to whom she has
not done a kindness. She is well able, no doubt, for her husband is the
brother of Seleukus, and her father, too, sat over his ears in gold."

"Yes, she is able," interrupted Martialis, with a tone of pride, as
though it were some credit to himself. "But how many have even more,
and keep their purse-strings tight! I have known her since she was a
child, and she is the best of all that is good. What does not the town
owe to her! She risked her life to move Caesar's father to mercy toward
the citizens, after they had openly declared against him and in favor of
his rival Pescennius Niger. And she succeeded, too."

"Why, then, are they whistling?" asked the older centurion.

"Because her companion is a spy," repeated the Alexandrian. "And the
girl--In Caesar's favor! But, after all, which of you all would not
gladly see his sister or his niece Caesar's light of love?"

"Not I!" cried Martialis. "But the man who speaks ill of that girl only
does so because he likes blue eyes best. The maiden who comes in the
lady Euryale's chariot is spotless, you may swear."

"Nay, nay," said the younger Alexandrian soothingly. "That black-haired