Paegnion was silent.
“Well then!” said the gay voice in a strangely contemptuous tone, and the hand moved as though to close the curtain.
Paegnion feared the conversation was over.
“What do you mean?” he hastened to ask.
“I thought Attic youths were more clever than others—so clever that their masters could never conceal anything from them. Now I see that the Athenian lads are no brighter than our own.”
Paegnion felt a little nettled.
“I could answer you, if I chose,” he muttered roughly.
“And why don’t you choose, Paegnion?”
“Because I don’t want to be thrust through the breast with a long knife.”
“Empty threats! And you care for them? A boy like you isn’t easily killed.... No, say rather that you know nothing.”