The Philosopher.
My owls cannot endure the church-lights here in the imperial city. [To one of the young men.] Give me your hand, Sallust.
[Is about to descend the steps.
Sallust.
[Half-way down the steps, whispers.] By the gods, it is he!
The Philosopher.
He——?
Sallust.
On my life, ’tis he! I know him;—I have seen him with Hekebolius.
The Philosopher.