‘What message from the hoary tyrant—what are his commands?’
‘None, as yet, Surrentine—and speak respectfully of your betters, for walls have ears.’
Masthlion sank back on his pallet, and dropped his head on his hand with an action of utter weariness, mental and physical.
‘Hark’ee, brother; no one has seen or heard anything of you since yesterday, when I took thee to the presence chamber—have you never stirred from here since I quitted you?’
‘No.’
‘Then you have neither eaten nor drunken?’
The potter shook his head.
‘Nor slept either, I daresay.’
‘I think not.’
‘In truth, you look like a man who has been sealed up in a vault for a month. What is the trouble? Is it because your business has gone amiss with Caesar, or that he scared your life half away—or both? At any rate this is not the way to mend it. I recommend meat and drink and fresh air, taking care not to breathe the latter beyond the outer gate.’