‘Ha, nephew, is it you?’ said he.
‘Even so, dear uncle. You seem to be on the horns of a dilemma,’ returned the new-comer; ‘have you started out to dine, uncle, not having settled where to turn in for your dinner?’
‘Why, no; I am going to dine with my old friend Florus on the Quirinal—but you, nephew?’
‘Oh, I!—it is of no consequence—I was coming just to spend an hour with you. It is three days since I have seen you. With your permission I will turn and go along with you, for a space, on your way, whichever it is!’
‘By the Circus Flaminius; it is less crowded, though a little longer in distance,’ said Fabricius.
He gave a slight motion of his hand, indicating the left turn, and they took their way over the Cestian Bridge unto the island of the Tiber, sacred to Aesculapius. Thence by the bridge of Fabricius they were quickly on the opposite bank, and passing round by the outer side of the Capitoline.
So far they walked in silence. The elder seemed absorbed in abstraction, and the younger to be waiting, as if in deference to his relative’s cogitations. At length the old man turned his head toward the slaves who followed and waved his hand. They fell back farther in rear.
‘Were you coming to tell me aught of your mission, Titus?’ he began.
‘I went as you desired,’ returned his nephew, nodding.
‘It was good of you, as ever, nephew; but to no purpose, I suppose—as ever,’ said the old man, adding the last words with a weary, half-suppressed sigh.