The gigantic laborer, hearing this, bent down and kissed Chilo’s hand.
“What is thy name, brother?” inquired the Greek.
“At holy baptism, father, the name Urban was given me.”
“Urban, my brother, hast thou time to talk with me freely?”
“Our work begins at midnight, and only now are they preparing our supper.”
“Then there is time sufficient. Let us go to the river; there thou wilt hear my words.”
They went, and sat on the embankment, in a silence broken only by the distant sound of the millstones and the plash of the onflowing river. Chilo looked into the face of the laborer, which, notwithstanding a somewhat severe and sad expression, such as was usual on faces of barbarians living in Rome, seemed to him kind and honest.
“This is a good-natured, dull man who will kill Glaucus for nothing,” thought Chilo.
“Urban,” inquired he then, “dost thou love Christ?”
“I love him from the soul of my heart,” said the laborer.