“Look!” whispered Lycon, pointing to the boy, “fortune favors us. The sentinel is slumbering at his post. We shall come upon them unawares.”
Loud, merry talk reached them from the garden.
“Conops has slept on the bench long enough,” said a harsh voice, not without a shade of envy.
“How he snores!” added another.
“Only a swine-herd can snore like that.”
“Pour some wine into his mouth.”
“Tickle him on the nose with a straw.”
“Put a frog on his neck.”
The last proposal was greeted with shrill laughter.
Lycon pushed the sleeping boy away with his foot and, in the midst of the slaves’ noisy mirth, the master of the house and his guest suddenly stood among them.