“Not for ever. You wish to see me again, don’t you? Put on a cheerful face, and say, ‘We meet again.’”
“We meet again.”
“Good! and when we meet again, we will go with the children together into the woods.”
“Socrates was not what I thought he was.”
“Go! I want to sleep.”
She went, but met in the doorway Plato and Crito.
“The hour approaches, friends,” said Socrates wearily, and with feverish eyes.
“Are you calm, Master?”
“To say the truth, I am quite calm. I will not assert that I am joyful, but my conscience does not trouble me.”
“When, Socrates, when—will it happen?”