Then, handing her to the care of his guard, he again walked on. Presently he deigned to explain to me—
“Bound to the Caucausus that young girl would look charming! Nevertheless, she will not be my Prometheus. She will serve me as model for certain little erotic pictures with which I ease my toils during hours of leisure—pictures that are not, however, the least noble part of my lifework.”
We walked on. The crowd had greatly increased. The sun became more terrible in the midst of that vast plain, without a shadow, and in the midst of a great and mixed concourse of people.
Artemidora was dressed in a white tunic, girdle, and veil. She often turned to look at us, and it seemed to me that when properly robed she seemed to be another person. Her face acquired another expression, and she seemed anxious to glean from one of us which was to be the man she was fated to surrender to. Already we had been through half the principal street when Parrhasius stopped, and said—
“No. That for which I seek is not here. The youth of the body and the beauty of the face are not found together. I have more chance, I think, of finding my man among slaves of the second class.”
Scarcely had we gone three more paces when he extended his hand, and cried out, “Behold him!”
I drew near and gazed with curiosity. The man whom he pointed to was about fifty years of age. Of a fine, tall figure and excellent proportions, he had a large face; the arch of the brows was powerful and muscular, the nose and ears were correctly modelled, hair grey, but beard brown and brindled. The strong muscles of the neck formed a sort of pedestal to his fine head, and gave it a pose of authority.
Parrhasius questioned him. “What do you call yourself?”
“Outis.”
“I do not ask you for anything, my brave man, but the name that you received from your father.”