Casca’s anxious desire that his only child should be distinguished for accomplishments of every kind, and have her mental gifts cultivated to the utmost, was not likely to be disappointed.
Cynthia was already known as one of the most promising of Zoe’s pupils, and she seemed to have no difficulty in acquiring and retaining knowledge.
On this lovely spring morning, Claudius, being a little weary, seating himself on a bench near one of the principal fountains, which made a soft musical murmur as the waters fell into a deep marble basin, turned suddenly as he heard his name.
A man about his own age, leaning on the arm of a youth of eighteen or twenty, advanced towards him.
“Sure,” he said, “I see before me Claudius, who commanded the fourth legion under Constantius?”
The two old men stood facing each other silently for a few moments, and then grasped each other’s hands.
“I never expected to meet you, brave Claudius, again, least of all at Alexandria.”
“And I, my noble friend and old ally, Varrus, never expected to grasp your hand in mine again. Methought you lived at Marseilles?”
“Ay, and I have left it only for a short space, to bring hither to this seat of learning my only son, Heraclitus, who craved for the schools of wisdom here, and desires to add the learning of the scholar to the courage of the soldier. And here, my son,” he continued, “is as brave a soldier as ever wielded a sword, the good and valiant Claudius.”
“It seems that I see your father again in you,” Claudius said. “Varrus, you live again in your boy.”