After this the old man was silent for a time. Rousing himself again, for he had been inclined to doze, he said:
"Cleanor, are you here?"
"Yes, sire," replied the Greek.
"Don't leave me till all is over. And now give me a cup of wine."
"But, sire, the physician said—"
"Pooh! what does it matter if I die one hour or two or three hours before sunrise? And I want something that will give me a little strength."
Cleanor filled a cup and handed it to the king. "It hardly tastes as good as usual," said the old man, when he had drained it, "yet that, I can easily believe, is not the wine's fault, but mine. But tell me, do you think that I shall know anything about what is going on here when I am gone? What does Mastanabal say? I haven't had time to think about these things; but he reads, and you are something of a student too. What do the philosophers say?"
"Aristotle thinks, sire, that the dead may very well know something about the fortunes of their descendants—it would be almost inhuman, he says, if they did not—but that it will not be enough to make them either happy or unhappy."
"Well, the less one knows the better, when one comes to think. To see things going wrong and not be able to interfere!... But enough of this.... And now, Cleanor, about yourself. You do not love the Romans, I think?"
The young Greek's face flushed at the question.