I may see men or women--the sea yonder or the mountain here, without ever thinking of Alexandria, but only of sacred things; but when the savor of fish rises up to my nostrils I see the market and fish stalls and the oysters--" "Those of Kanopus are famous," interrupted Steplianus, "they make little pasties there--" Paulus passed the back of his hand over his bearded lips, exclaiming, "At the shop of the fat cook--Philemon--in the street of Herakleotis." But he broke off, and cried with an impulse of shame, "It were better that I should cease telling of my past life.

The day does not dawn yet, and you must try to sleep." "I cannot sleep," sighed Stephanus; "if you love me go on with your story." "But do not interrupt me again then," said Paulus, and he went on: "With all this gay life I was not happy--by no means.

When I was alone sometimes, and no longer sitting in the crowd of merry boon-companions and complaisant wenches, emptying the wine cup and crowned with poplar, I often felt as if I were walking on the brink of a dark abyss as if every thing in myself and around me were utterly hollow and empty.

I could stand gazing for hours at the sea, and as the waves rose only to sink again and vanish, I often reflected that I was like them, and that the future of my frivolous present must be a mere empty nothing.

Our gods were of little account with us.