When Mopsus, or any other lad, raised his voice unusually loud, or a
young girl laughed in the overflowing joy of her heart, Lysander's eyes
sparkled like sunshine, and he often raised his hands and swayed merrily
to and fro to the measure of the music.

Your heart really dances with the young people," said the conjurer.

"But it lacks feet," replied Lysander, and then he told him about his
fall, and the particulars of his sufferings, the danger in which he had
been, the remedies used, and the final convalescence. He did this with
great pleasure, for it always relieved his mind when he was permitted to
tell the story of his life to a sympathizing auditor, and few had
listened more attentively than did the conjurer, partly from real
interest, partly in anticipation of the cloth.

The little man frequently interrupted Lysander with intelligent
questions, and did not lose patience when the speaker paused to wave
his hand to the merry group.

"How they laugh and enjoy themselves!" the invalid again exclaimed.
"They are all young, and before I had this fall--"

The sentence was not finished, for the notes of the monaulus suddenly
ceased, the dancers stopped, and, instead of the music and laughter,
Semestre's voice was heard; but at the same time Xanthe, carrying a small
piece of brown cloth over her arm, approached the sick man. The latter
at first looked at his daughter's flushed face with some surprise, then
again glanced toward the scene of the interrupted dance, for something
was happening there which he could not fully approve, though it forced