'True Syrian--fire and honey; fourteen years old next vintage, my
Raphael. Out, Hypocorisma! See that he is not listening. The
impudent rascal! I was humbugged into giving two thousand gold
pieces for him two years ago, he was so pretty--they said he was
only just rising thirteen--and he has been the plague of my life
ever since, and is beginning to want the barber already. Now, what
is the count dreaming of?'

'His wages for killing Stilicho.'

'What, is it not enough to be Count of Africa?'

'I suppose he sets off against that his services during the last
three years.'

'Well, he saved Africa.'

'And thereby Egypt also. And you too, as well as the emperor, may
be considered as owing him somewhat.'

'My good friend, my debts are far too numerous for me to think of
paying any of them. But what wages does he want?'

'The purple.'

Orestes started, and then fell into thought. Raphael sat watching
him a while.

'Now, most noble lord, may I depart? I have said all I have to say;