“Papaia!” he cried. “Here is the host! And here is Aristophanes, a future dramatist. Here is the Roman Lucillus, formerly a Decemvir, who has been banished. There is one of the many Laises who have sat to Phidias. Aspasia must not take it ill. And here are flute-players from Piraeus. Whether they have the pestilence, I know not! What can they do to me? I am twenty years old, and yet have done nothing? Why, then, should I live? Now Lais will dance. Papaia!” Euripides rose and made a sign for silence. “Let the dance wait; Pericles is not pleased, and looks serious.” A pause followed. The heat was oppressive. It was not thunder-weather, but something like it, and a sense of uneasy expectation seemed to weigh upon all their spirits. Then, as if by accident, the arm of the skeleton fell on its knee with a slight snap. The flower, which it had held under its nose, lay on the earth. All started, even Alcibiades, but, angry with himself for this weakness, he took a cup and stepped forward. “The skeleton is thirsty! I drink to it! Who pledges me?” “Socrates can do so the best. He can drink half a jar of wine in one pull, without winking.” As a matter of fact, Socrates was notorious for his drinking powers, but now he was not in the mood. “Not to-day! Wine is bitter to my taste,” he said. And turning to Pericles, he whispered: “Evil eyes have come here. This Aristophanes is not our friend! Do you know him?” “Very little, but he looks as though he would like to murder us.” Alcibiades continued to address the skeleton: “Thus looks Athens at this moment! Sparta and the Persian King have gnawed off its flesh; Cleon has tanned its skin; the allies have gouged out its eyes; the citizens have drawn out its teeth,--those citizens whom Aristophanes knows and whom he will soon describe. Here’s to you, skeleton! ‘[Greek: _Polla metaxu pelei kulikos kai cheileos akrou_]!’” There was a sudden change in the scene. The skeleton sank backwards like a drunken man; the lamps began to sway on their chains, the salt-cellar was spilt on the table. “Ohioh!” cried Alcibiades, “Tralall! Ha! Ha! Ha! The table wobbles, the sofa rocks; am I drunk, or is the room drunk?” All were alarmed, but Socrates commanded quiet. “A god is near! The earth shakes, and I hear ... does it thunder? No! That is an earthquake.” All jumped up, but Socrates continued, “Be quiet! It is already past.” After they had all taken their places again, he continued: “I was five years old when Sparta was visited by an earthquake; twenty thousand men perished, and only six houses remained standing. Then it was Sparta. Now it is Athens. Yes, friends, a voice says to me, ‘Before a babe can become a man, we shall have been dispersed and destroyed like a bevy of birds.’” Again the dog barked, and the door-keeper shouted. There entered an uninvited guest in a state of excitement.