The sight of suffering was painful to him, and the cries of the vulgar offended his ear; he felt indignant that these people should not be fed, as Rome for so many ages had fed her multitude, but above all, he dreaded uproar, confusion, violence.

His hurried pace did not relax until he was lost again amid a wilderness of ruins, where browsing goats and darting lizards were the only life.
Later in the day, when he sat alone in the peristyle, a visitor was introduced, whom he rose to welcome cordially and respectfully.

This was a man of some threescore years, vigorous in frame, with dry, wrinkled visage and a thin, grey beard that fell to his girdle.

As he approached, Decius saw that he was bleeding from a wound on the head and that his cloak was torn.
'What means this, dear master ?' he exclaimed.

'What has befallen you ?' 'Nothing worth your notice, gentle Decius,' the philosopher replied, calmly and gravely.