At the close of the solemnities Publius had parted from his companion without taking leave, and without looking to the right or to the left, he had hastened back to the Pastophorium and to the cell of Serapion, the recluse.
The old man heard from afar the younger man's footstep, which fell on the earth with a firmer and more decided tread than that of the softly-stepping priests of Serapis, and he greeted him warmly with signs and words.
Publius thanked him coolly and gravely, and said, dryly enough and with incisive brevity: "My time is limited.

I propose shortly to quit Memphis, but I promised you to hear your request, and in order to keep my word I have come to see you; still--as I have said--only to keep my word.

The water-bearers of whom you desired to speak to me do not interest me--I care no more about them than about the swallows flying over the house yonder." "And yet this morning you took a long walk for Klea's sake," returned Serapion.
"I have often taken a much longer one to shoot a hare," answered the Roman.

"We men do not pursue our game because the possession of it is any temptation, but because we love the sport, and there are sporting natures even among women.

Instead of spears or arrows they shoot with flashing glances, and when they think they have hit their game they turn their back upon it.