Eudora, accompanied by Geta, the favourite slave of Phidias, stepped
forth into the street, on their way to Aspasia's residence.

Loud shouts of laughter came from the agoras, and the whole air was
filled with the hum of a busy multitude. Groups of citizens lingered
about the porticos; Egyptians, Medians, Sicilians, and strangers from
all the neighbouring States of Greece, thronged the broad avenue of the
Piraeus; women, carrying upon their heads olive jars, baskets of grapes,
and vases of water, glided among the crowd, with that majestic motion so
peculiar to the peasantry in countries where this custom prevails.

Philothea drew the folds of her veil more closely, and clung timidly to
her venerable protector. But neither this, nor increasing twilight,
could screen the graceful maidens from observation. Athenians looked
back as they passed, and foreigners paused to inquire their name and
parentage.

In a few moments they were under the walls of the Acropolis, walking in
the shadow of the olive groves, among god-like statues, to which the
gathering obscurity of evening gave an impressive distinctness--as if
the light departing from the world, stood petrified in marble.

Thence they entered the inner Ceramicus, where Aspasia resided. The
building, like all the private houses of Athens, had a plain exterior,
strongly contrasted by the magnificence of surrounding temples, and
porticos. At the gate, an image of Hermes looked toward the harbour,
while Phoebus, leaning on his lyre, appeared to gaze earnestly at the
dwelling.

A slave, stationed near the door, lighted the way to the apartment where