“Come with me, Tarrar.”
And he took the little slave by the hand and led him to his room.
He sat down, with Tarrar standing in front of him. Then he said:
“Tarrar, I am sorry for hurting you so badly. Forgive me, Tarrar.”
But Tarrar shook his head:
“It is not for me to forgive you, my lord,” he said, earnestly, with great, dim eyes. “You are the master.”
“Tarrar,” Lucius continued, “when we are back in Rome, you shall be free. I will set you free. And you shall no longer be a little slave. But you shall go to school, to the freedmen’s college. And learn all sorts of things. And become very clever, like Thrasyllus. And I will give you money. And you will be able to do whatever you please.”
Tarrar was a little taken aback:
“You are very kind, my lord,” he said. “But, if I go to school, who will fold your clothes? And listen for your gong? You are not driving me away, my lord, because I was so unhappy? I would rather stay with you, my lord, I would rather remain your little slave ... and I will never again be so disrespectful as to weep.... I would rather remain your stupid little slave.”
“You shall be free, Tarrar. But you will be allowed to serve me all the same.”