The two boys had been educated together for some years; and Titus, when he became Emperor, still retained a fond affection for the companion of his youth, to whom he erected an equestrian statue. There was a story, known to very few, which might have endangered the life of Titus, had it been divulged. One day, when the two boys were learning their lessons together, Narcissus had brought in one of the foreign physiognomists who were known as _metoposcopi_, to look at them from behind a curtain. The man did not know who they were; he only knew that they were in some way connected with the Palace. After carefully studying their faces, he said that the elder of the two, Titus, should certainly become Emperor, but the younger as certainly should not. At that time Britannicus was heir to the throne. Narcissus was superstitious, and his heart misgave him; but he derived some comfort from the absurd improbability of a prophecy that a boy who had been born in so humble a house, and was only the descendant of a Cisalpine haymaker, should ever wear the purple of the Cæsars. He was too kind-hearted to let the anecdote be generally known, for even as a boy Titus was liked by every one, if he was not yet ‘the darling of the human race.’ One day, as Titus went across the viridarium, or chief green court of the Palace, he saw a little slave-boy struggling hard to repress his sobs. His kindly nature was touched by the sight. He had not been trained in the school of those haughty youths who thought it a degradation to speak to their slaves; his father, Vespasian, being himself of lowly origin, held, with Seneca, that slaves, after all, were men, and might become dear and faithful friends. ‘What is your name, and why do you weep, my little man?’ asked Titus. ‘They call me Epictetus,’ said the child; ‘and I am the slave of Epaphroditus, the Emperor’s secretary. I fell and hurt my leg very badly against the marble rim of the fountain. Don’t be angry with me. I will bear the pain.’[15] ‘A born Stoic!’ said Titus, smiling. ‘But what is the matter with your leg?’ ‘I will tell you, sir,’ answered Epictetus. ‘Being deformed and useless, as you see, my master thought that he might turn me to some account by having me taught philosophy, and he made me _capsarius_[16] to his son, who attends the lectures of Musonius Rufus. Musonius, who is kind and good, let me sit in a corner and listen. I am not a Stoic yet, but I shall try to be one some day.’ ‘But even now you have not told me how you came to be lame.’