"But—I would stay until after the Feast of Flora," the prince objected stubbornly.
Cypros was breaking in, affrightedly, when Flaccus interrupted.
"Come! come!" he said, with a bluff assumption of good nature. "Thou art not banished from the city, young man! I am legate over Alexandria, and a conscienceless pagan, wherefore thou hast not offended my gods nor done aught to deserve my disfavor. Get thee down to Rhacotis among thy friends—or thine enemies—till the Herod hath diverted himself with Flora, and go thy way to Rome! What a tragedy thou makest of nothing tragic!"
"O son of Mars," Marsyas said to himself, "I do not build on finding asylum there. Never a pitfall but is baited with invitation!"
But Cypros turned to the proconsul, her face glowing with thankfulness under her tears.
"Is it pleasing to thee, lady?" the proconsul asked jovially.
"Twice, thrice thou hast been my friend!" she cried.
"I shall go," said Marsyas. "Remember, my lord prince, these many things which I and others suffer add to the certainty that thou shalt be called to pay my debt against Saul of Tarsus, one day! Three days hence, thou and I shall sail for Rome!"
He saluted the company and passed out of the garden.
"Perchance," said Flaccus dryly, with his peculiar aptitude for insinuation, "an officer should conduct him to this nest of apostates."