The Greek boy set wine before them, threw a few grains of incense on a brazier, and departed softly. Marcus drank a white Greek wine; Rufus poured himself out a large bowl of Falernian.
"I take mine with a great deal of water," said Serenus; "because my stomach is weak. Alas! sometimes I think it is my stomach which has taught me the virtue of moderation. I have heard a man, who was a Christian, speak in almost the identical words of Seneca. The cardinal point of his doctrine was not the Stoic apathy, but the recommendation of sympathy, that is the difference between them. Here and there he uses the same phrases and illustrations as Seneca. It shows how widespread the new spirit is."
"Seneca's teaching did not interest me," answered Rufus. "It was the man I loved. Though it is long since saw him, I cannot believe that he was contaminated by Judaism."
Serenus felt a curious desire to disburden himself.
"I went a great deal among the Christians once," he said softly.
The two men looked at him for a moment, with that curious expression of distrust which men adopt when another confesses to some social indiscretion.
"It was nearly nine years ago, and perhaps my nature resembled Seneca's then; my philosophy was an affair of the heart. I was seeking for a beauty that is not of this world. It was at Corinth. I met a man named Paul."
"All things are possible at Corinth," said Rufus. "Tell us your story, Serenus."
"And then we shall stay to dinner," said Marcus, as he finished his wine.
"It is a long story," said Serenus, smiling. "I have written it on a roll, and shall read it to you. Let us go out into the garden; it is cool and pleasant there now. Lysis will bring you what you want. Do you remember telling me, Rufus, that Seneca drew you to him by his weakness? Paul drew me to him by his strength."