Masthlion sank thereon and buried his face in his hands with a groan.
‘Hark’ee, comrade,’ said Zeno, after regarding him for a while, ‘take my word for it, you are well out of that. I have seen better men come worse off. It is only for madmen and fools to make experiments on the temper of Caesar—do you take my advice and be careful and less ambitious in your business—take your wares to a safer market.’
CHAPTER XX.
When the sun flashed upon the white walls of the palace next morning, Masthlion was still upon his pallet bed, much in the same posture as when Zeno had left him. Indeed, the cramped space of the cell gave not much opportunity for movement.
He was free to enter the servants’ hall, to eat at their table, and otherwise to amuse himself within the limits of the villa; but he had remained in his narrow retreat heedless of all.
As the morning wore on, the door opened, and the handsome steward entered. He gazed upon Masthlion with surprise. The potter was gaunt, haggard, and wasted—a single night had scored his face with the careworn furrows of twenty years.
‘Well!’ said the latter, starting up with an unsettled look, which had supplanted his usual calm gaze. ‘Well!’
‘Well!’ echoed the Greek, regarding him with undisguised curiosity.