He looked up at the two, his eyes blue, brilliant, piercing.
"My beloved Appius," said he, in a gentle tone, as he rose.

"And this--let me think--ah, it is Vergilius, the son of Varro." "It is wonderful you should remember me," said Vergilius.
"Wonderful?
No.

I could tell your age, your misdeeds, your virtues, and how often you failed to answer the roll-calls in Cappadocia.

Well, I dare say they were pretty girls.

But I forget; I am to-day seeking alms, my good children, for the poor of Rome.