There was also a pompilus, a purple fish which was supposed to have sprung from the same foam as Aphrodite, bebradons, a grey mullet served up with calmars, multi-coloured scorpenas. Some were brought in their little sauce-pans, in order that they might be eaten foaming hot; fat tunnyfish, hot devil-fish with tender tentacles, slices of lamprey; finally the belly of a white electric eel, round as that of a beautiful woman. Such was the first course. The guests chose little tit-bits from each fish, and left the rest to the slaves. “Love,” began Phrasilas, “is a word which has no meaning, or rather too much, for it designates in turn two irreconcilable feelings: sensual gratification and passion. I do not know in what sense Faustina takes it.” ill-047 _“I like to have the sensual gratification.”_ “For my part,” interrupted Chrysis, “I like to have the sensual gratification, and to leave passion to my lovers. We must speak both of one and the other, or my interest will only be partial.” “Love,” murmured Philodemos, “is neither passion nor sensual gratification. Love is something quite different.” “Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” exclaimed Timon, “let us have a banquet for once without philosophies. We are aware, Phrasilas, that you can uphold with graceful eloquence and honeyed persuasiveness the superiority of multiple pleasure over exclusive passion. We are aware also that after having spoken for a full hour on such a thorny question, you would be ready, during the next hour, with the same graceful eloquence and the same honeyed persuasiveness, to defend the arguments of your adversary. I do not. . . . .” “Allow me . . .” said Phrasilas. “I do not deny,” continued Timon, “the charm of this little sport, or even the wit you bring to bear on it. I have my doubts as to its difficulty, and consequently as to its interest. The _Banquet_ you published some time ago and incorporated in a story of lighter tone, and also the reflexions you placed recently in the mouth of a mythical personage who resembles your ideal, seemed new and rare in the reign of Ptolemy Auletes. But for three years we have been living under the young Queen Berenice, and I know not by what transformation the method of thought you had adopted, that of an illustrious exegetical critic, harmonious and smiling, has suddenly grown a century older under your pen, like the fashion of tight sleeves and yellow hair. Excellent master, I deplore it, for if your stories lack fire, if your experience of the female heart is not worth serious consideration, on the other hand you are gifted with the comic spirit, and I am grateful to you for having made me smile.” “Timon!” cried Bacchis in indignation. Phrasilas motioned to her to be silent.