The demagogue Cleon had really been lurking out of sight, and listening to the conversation. And so had another man with a yellow complexion and a full black beard, who seemed to belong to the artisan class. When the brilliant company had departed, Cleon stepped forward, laid his hand on the stranger’s shoulder, and said:
“You have heard their conversation?”
“Certainly I have,” he answered.
“Then you can give evidence.”
“I cannot give evidence, because I am a foreigner.”
“Still you have heard how they spoke against the gods of the State.”
“I am a Syrian, and only know one true God. Your gods are not mine.”
“You are a Hebrew, then! What is your name?”
“I am an Israelite, of the family of Levi, and call myself now Cartophilus.”