Dion did not recognize himself.

He seemed as unstable as a swaying reed, because he had conquered his wish to re-enter old Didymus's house and encourage him, and passed on to his own home.

But he would probably have found Barine still with her grandfather, and he would not meet her, though every fibre of his being longed for her face, her voice, and a word of gratitude from her beloved lips.

Instead of joy, he was filled with the sense of dissatisfaction which overpowers a man standing at a crossing in the roads, who sees before him three goals, yet can be fully content with neither.
The Street of the King, along which he suffered himself to be carried by the excited throng, ran between the sea and the Theatre of Dionysus.

The thought darted through his mind that his friend the architect desired to erect the luckless statues of the royal lovers in front of this stately building.