Vinicius turned an inquiring glance on the Greek, and asked,—“What hast thou done to-day?”
“How? What! have I not told thee, lord, that I made a vow for thy health?”
“Nothing more?”
“I was just preparing to visit thee, when this good man came and said that thou hadst sent for me.”
“Here is a tablet. Thou wilt go with it to my house; thou wilt find my freedman and give it to him. It is written on the tablet that I have gone to Beneventum. Thou wilt tell Demas from thyself that I went this morning, summoned by an urgent letter from Petronius.” Here he repeated with emphasis: “I have gone to Beneventum, dost understand?”
“Thou has gone, lord. This morning I took leave of thee at the Porta Capena, and from the time of thy departure such sadness possesses me that if thy magnanimity will not soften it, I shall cry myself to death, like the unhappy wife of Zethos [Aedon turned into a nightingale] in grief for Itylos.”
Vinicius, though sick and accustomed to the Greek’s suppleness, could not repress a smile. He was glad, moreover, that Chilo understood in a flash; hence he said,
“Therefore I will write that thy tears be wiped away. Give me the candle.” Chilo, now pacified perfectly, rose, and, advancing a few steps toward the chimney, took one of the candles which was burning at the wall. But while he was doing this, the hood slipped from his head, and the light fell directly on his face. Glaucus sprang from his seat and, coming up quickly, stood before him.
“Dost thou not recognize me, Cephas?” asked he. In his voice there was something so terrible that a shiver ran through all present.
Chilo raised the candle, and dropped it to the earth almost the same instant; then he bent nearly double and began to groan,—“I am not he—I am not he! Mercy!”