'But who is this Hypatia, of whom you talk so much?'

'Who is Hypatia, rustic? The queen of Alexandria! In wit, Athene;
Hera in majesty; in beauty, Aphrodite!'

'And who are they?' asked Philammon.

The porter stopped, surveyed him slowly from foot to head with an
expression of boundless pity and contempt, and was in the act of
walking off in the ecstasy of his disdain, when he was brought to
suddenly by Philammon's strong arm.

'Ah!--I recollect. There is a compact .... Who is Athene? The
goddess, giver of wisdom. Hera, spouse of Zeus, queen of the
Celestials. Aphrodite, mother of love .... You are not expected to
understand.'

Philammon did understand, however, so much as this, that Hypatia was
a very unique and wonderful person in the mind of his little guide;
and therefore asked the only further question by which he could as
yet test any Alexandrian phenomenon--

'And is she a friend of the patriarch?'

The porter opened his eyes very wide, put his middle finger in a
careful and complicated fashion between his fore and third fingers,
and extending it playfully towards Philammon, performed therewith
certain mysterious signals, the effect whereof being totally lost on
him, the little man stopped, took another look at Philammon's