"I shall not sell myself," Marsyas said. "I have come only to find how to value my services."
"Whom dost thou serve?" the old man demanded. Marsyas was not ready to disclose his identity.
"A Roman. Peace and the continuance of good fortune be thine."
He bowed and passed out of the counting-room.
The usurer stood a moment, then summoned his servants, and, getting himself into street dress, hastened to follow the young man. Marsyas turned his steps toward the house in the suburbs.
There were several torches about the painted gate in the wall and the light shone on a group alighting from a curricle. Cypros and her children had returned from the city, and Agrippa had come forth to receive them. Marsyas joined the group and Peter's lectica was borne up to the circle of radiance under the torches. The old man's eyes filled with wrath when he recognized Agrippa. He stood up and surveyed him with scorn.
"A Roman!" he scoffed. "A Roman, only to add the vices of the race to the meanness of a Herod! Back to my house, slaves! We have taken profitless pains!"
Agrippa's anger leaped into his face and Marsyas pursued and overtook the litter.
"Thy pardon, sir," he began.
"I have a right to attach thee for the talent thy master owes me," Peter stormed.