“The word,” he said, “the secret of happiness ... Thrasyllus, is happiness not an illusion of the brain? Does happiness not lie in resigning one’s self piously to one’s fate and is the secret word not the proud ‘Be a god unto yourself’?”
The old man started. And he whispered:
“You also? Have you also heard that word, as I heard it at Sais? I took no account of it, it did not satisfy me.”
“It satisfied me in the oasis, because it is a proud, strong word and I have needed pride and strength ... since I have known, Thrasyllus.”
“Known what, Lucius?”
“That Carus stole Ilia from me.”
The old man started violently:
“You know?” he exclaimed. “You know? Who told you? Who betrayed the secret?”
“The voice itself within my own soul, which the oracles caused to speak to me. My own thoughts, tossing this way and that, which the oracles guided. From the sibyl of Rhacotis, who merely guessed my own thoughts, down to the old high-priest of Ammon-Râ, who spoke to me like a father ... and who said to me the word, ‘Be a god unto yourself!’”
“As Nemu-Pha said to me, at Sais. I paid for it in gold.”