He slowly climbed the hill. At about a hundred paces up, there was a spot whence he could see over the roofs of the tallest villas and down into the valley. His eye, though his purpose was to look far away and across the sea, was irresistibly riveted by an object that was quite close at hand. To his right a by-path led down towards the palace of the Empress, and the huge portico, with its Corinthian columns, gleamed pale and visionary in the doubtful light. But what attracted the young man’s attention was a little side-door, which slowly turned on its pivot[119] with a slight noise, letting a female figure in Greek dress pass out into the road. Quintus recognized Euterpe, the flute-player. Limp and weary she climbed the steep slope, her eyes fixed on the ground, and as she came closer, Quintus could see that she had been weeping bitterly. “Good morning, all hail!” he cried, when the young woman was within a few steps of him. Euterpe gave a little cry. “It is you, my lord!” she said with a faint smile. “Returning so late from Cumae?” “No, my good Euterpe. I am up not late, but early. But what in the world have you been doing at this hour in Domitia’s palace? Has she been giving a feast? You do not look as if you had gathered a harvest of gold or flowers.” “Indeed, my lord, no!” replied Euterpe, again melting into tears. “I have been to visit a friend, who is suffering terribly. Down in Baiae, where I was playing at night in the house of the wealthy Timotheus, Agathon the seer gave me herbs and salves--they cost me a heavy sum--and since then I have been in there.... Oh! his wounds are horrible.... But what am I talking about! He is only a slave, my lord; what can Quintus Claudius care...?” “Do you think so?” said Quintus, interrupting the agitated speaker. “But I am not made of stone; I know full well, that though among slaves there is many a scamp, there are also worthy and excellent men. And if, to crown all, he is the friend[120] of so charming a creature....” “Nay, my lord, you will have your jest--but if you could only see him, poor Eurymachus! If you could know how faithful he is, and how noble!” “Well, I call that being desperately in love!” Euterpe colored. “No,” she said modestly. “I can accuse myself of many sins, but Eurymachus--no evil thought ever entered his mind.” “Is love a sin then?” “I am married.” “Here--you were not wont to be so strict!” “And the greater pity! If I had always known Eurymachus, as I know him now....” “Indeed! and how do you know him now?” “He has opened my eyes; I know now how deeply I have sinned....” “He is a philosopher then, who converts fair sinners from their evil ways?” “He is a hero!” exclaimed Euterpe with enthusiasm. “You do not stint your praise. Does he belong to the Empress?” “To her steward, Stephanus. Ah! my lord, he is a tyrant....” “So they say.”