Chrem. So it seems.
Syrus. Aye, Sir, if you knew all; nay, even now
She’s hatching mischief.—Dwelling hereabouts,
There was of late an old Corinthian woman,
To whom this Bacchis lent a thousand pieces.
Chrem. What then?
Syrus. The woman’s dead; and left behind
A daughter, very young, whom she bequeath’d,
By way of pledge, to Bacchis for the money.
Chrem. I understand.