“Is that the Athenian?”
“The one who saved the sailors by unfastening the boats?”
“And who helped the citizens in the flooded streets?”
“Who knows him?—Who can tell whether it’s he?”
The temptation was too strong for Conops; he forgot to ask whether he might speak.
“I can tell you that!” he replied, not without a touch of pride; “he’s my master’s guest, and I’ve been with him all day, first at market and then in the boat—he and no other is Lycon the Athenian.”
A universal shout of applause rang out; several women of light repute, who were passing, flung him kisses, and Polycles, the owner of the house, grasped his hand, saying:
“If you are the Lycon of whom everybody is talking, you are a man of honor to whom the city owes more than a new robe.”
Then, with the most cordial sympathy, Polycles welcomed the sick Simonides and his daughter, and learning from the latter’s lips that they had spent the afternoon in terror lest the house should fall and bury them in the water, he said:
“I won’t take you to my old stone mansion—there might be another shock of earthquake—but I have in my garden a good new wooden barn, where you can rest in safety and be supplied by my old housekeeper with everything necessary. The slaves shall be cared for as well as possible.” And, as he took Simonides’ arm out of Lycon’s to guide him and Myrtale to their temporary abode, he called to one of the boys who were hurrying about waiting on the guests and ordered him to bring Lycon wine, barley bread, cheese, and fruit.