After the intoxication of the night the Athenian felt a vehement desire to breathe the fresh, open air. He was stifling where he was, in Sónnica's room, sunk down in the couch that seemed to burn with the fire of their recent passion, near the form, which now lay inert and with no other sign of life than the gentle sighs which inflated her bosom.
The Greek softly tiptoed out to the peristyle. The lamps were still burning in the triclinium, and an insufferable vapor of viands, wines, and sweaty bodies floated through the doorway. He saw the guests lying on the floor among the snoring women. Euphobias had awakened from his drunken sleep, and, occupying the place of honor, Sónnica's couch, was forging for himself the illusion of being master of the villa. Wrapped in his tattered mantle he was compelling two sleepy dancing girls to dance, contemplating their nude flesh with a disdainful stare like a man who considers himself above carnal desires.
As Actæon appeared in the triclinium some slaves fled, fearing lest they should be punished for their curiosity. Not wishing to be seen by the philosopher the Greek went out of the house seeking the cool garden. There he noticed the same flight before his steps. Embracing couples fled along the avenues; from behind the clumps of foliage arose exclamations of surprise as he approached, and in the dissipating shadows of the night the garden seemed animated by a mysterious life beneath its leafy bowers.
They were slaves who, excited by the feast, continued beneath the open sky the scenes of the triclinium.
The Greek smiled, reflecting that the feast was destined to augment his mistress' wealth.
"Let them enjoy themselves in peace. To disturb them would damage Sónnica's interests."
He passed out of the garden so as not to interfere with the joy of the miserable flock which, forgetting every trouble, sought each other there in the dim light of dawn.
He crossed Sónnica's immense dominions, through groves of fig trees and extensive olive orchards, until suddenly he found himself in the highway of the Serpent. It was deserted. In the distance he heard the galloping of a horse and saw in the bluish light of dawn a rider who was undoubtedly making for the port.
As he drew near Actæon recognized him in spite of his head being covered by the hood of a war mantle. It was the Celtiberian shepherd. The Greek dashed into the centre of the roadway and grasped the horse by the bridle, while the rider, checked in his race, leaned back, tugging at the knife which he wore in his belt.
"Be calm!" said Actæon in a low voice. "If I stop you it is to say that I have recognized you. You are Hannibal, the son of the great Hamilcar! Your disguise may serve you among the Saguntines, but your boyhood friend knows you."