But, by the soul of my father! Serapis himself sends us what we need.

Step close up to me, noble Scipio--or Publius, if I may so call you--and look out towards the acacias.

Do you see my favorite, your cicerone, and the bread and roast fowls that your slave has brought him in that leathern wallet?
And now he is setting a wine-jar on the carpet he has spread at the big feet of Eulaeus--they will be calling you to share the meal in a minute, but I know of a pretty child who is very hungry--for a little white cat stole away her breakfast this morning.
Bring me half a loaf and the wing of a fowl, and a few pomegranates if you like, or one of the peaches Eulaeus is so judiciously fingering.
Nay--you may bring two of them, I have a use for both." "Serapion!" exclaimed Irene in mild reproof and looking down at the ground; but the Greek answered with prompt zeal, "More, much more than that I can bring you.

I hasten--" "Stay here," interrupted Publius with decision, holding him back by the shoulder.

"Serapion's request was addressed to me, and I prefer to do my friend's pleasure in my own person." "Go then," cried the Greek after Publius as he hurried away.