‘It needed no extra sharp ear to catch what you said, patron. But for the noise of the streets you might have been heard somewhere between this and the Palatine. It is dangerous to think in such a loud, public voice, and I recommend you to shake off the habit, for your own good, patron.’ The familiar style of this speech in no way allayed the storm in the mind of the knight, and he shook like an aspen leaf, with a passion impossible wholly to hide. ‘You are not in the humour to see me, patron—you are angry with me,’ added the man coolly; ‘it is as plain as anything can be.’ ‘Take heed, or your presumption, which is growing beyond all bounds, will run you into a certain amount of danger—impudent vagabond, is it for such as you to accost me thus? More respect, I bid thee, or beware!’ The menacing tone of the knight, and the dangerous, evil expression on his face, might have been judged sufficient warning in an ordinary case, but the man’s hardihood was in no way daunted. ‘Presumption, patron,’ he echoed; ‘there, with your honour’s leave, I must differ with you. I consider myself—in regard to the intimate relations between us—a most modest, respectful, and untroublesome client. Why, it is full three months since I presented myself to your honourable presence. I have seen you at chance times—for I am compelled now and again to encourage wearisome existence by the grateful sight of your person—but these have only been glimpses at a distance. Nor would I intrude myself upon you now, only that hard necessity compels me. In fact, patron, my treasure is drained to the last sesterce, which went this very morning to inspire my failing strength with a draught of vinegar, which they called wine.’ ‘I have nothing to give you—you are importunate beyond reason. You have, already, had much more than was stipulated. That you know as well as I. I will give you no more, so be off!’ ‘What, patron, and without as much as the cost of a mouthful of dinner? cast me off to starve?’—this with a burlesque of righteous horror in his looks and gestures—‘I, too, who have had the blessed fortune to do you such service! Some reptile has bitten my noble patron and changed his nature. Poor Cestus, then, may go and hang himself, or throw himself to fatten the pike in the Tiber; but no—you cannot, surely, refuse poor Cestus, thus empty and naked before you.’ ‘Silence!’ cried he of the toga, as fiercely as he could, without attracting the attention of the passers‐by. ‘Good‐for‐nothing spendthrift, you have had enough to have made you wantless for the remainder of your life, with an ordinary amount of care in its use!’ ‘I only follow the fashion of many of my betters, patron. To be free with one’s treasure is an excellent way of becoming popular and powerful—none better—in Rome at least.’ ‘Enough, I have said! If you are wise you will leave your insolence behind you, among your pot companions, when you seek to come before me.’