"Doubtless," Marsyas interrupted hastily. "I am a steward here in Ptolemais. But I have an errand here, good sir; by thy leave, I shall depart."
The old man made a motion of assent, but he followed the young Essene with a thoughtful eye.
"If I am to know the world's way," Marsyas said to himself, "I can use it, if need be."
He did not visit another usurer, but on the following day went to those places likely to be the haunts of Peter. When, presently, he discovered the old man near a fountain, Marsyas did not attempt to catch his eye. But one of Peter's servants touched him on the arm and told him that the master beckoned, and he hastened to the old man's side.
"Who is thy master?" Peter asked.
Marsyas winced, but restrained a declaration of his free-born state.
"A Roman citizen who is preparing to return to Italy."
"A Roman!" Peter repeated. "But thou art a Jew, or the blood of the race in thee lies."
"A Jew without taint of other blood in all the line."
"Art satisfied with thy service—serving a Roman?" was the demand.