The crowd slunk away, leaving the philosopher shaking his fist and hurling epithets of indignation. "What you ought to do," said one of the latter scornfully as he retired, "is to show more gratitude. If you ever get anything to eat, it is at Sónnica's table." "I shall eat to-night, then!" shouted the philosopher insolently. "And what do you prove by that? I will tell her to her face the same that I say here! And she will laugh as usual, while you will be eating swill in your houses and thinking of her banquet!" "Ingrate! Parasite!" exclaimed the man, turning his back contemptuously. "Gratitude is the condition of the dog. Man shows his superiority by speaking ill of those who favor him. If you do not wish Euphobias the philosopher to be a parasite, maintain him in exchange for his wisdom." By this time Euphobias was talking to empty space. They had all left, and had mingled with the moving crowd on the street. Only Actæon remained, examining him with interest, as if marveling at finding in a far-away city a man so like those who in Athens swarmed about the Academy, forming a class of hungry and obscure philosophic plebs. The parasite, seeing himself with no other audience than the Greek, caught him by the arm. "You alone deserve to hear me. One can easily perceive that you are from _there_, and that you know how to distinguish merit." "Who is that Sónnica whose customs so anger you? Do you know the story of her life?" asked the Athenian, desirous of hearing the history of a woman who seemed to fill the whole city with her name. "Do I know it? A thousand times she has told me in her hours of melancholy and weariness, which out-number all the rest. When I cannot manage to make her laugh with my wit, when she feels the need of un-burdening her mind, then she tells of her past with as much abandon as though she were talking to a dog; but it is a long story." The philosopher paused and winked one eye, pointing to a door near at hand, within which was a perforated counter holding a row of amphoræ. "We shall be more comfortable in Fulvius' house. He is a most honorable Roman who swears that he has quarreled with water. Day before yesterday he received a famous wine from Laurona. I smell its perfume even here." "I have not a single obolus in my pouch." The philosopher sniffed as if inhaling the vapor of the new wine, and made a gesture of disappointment. Then he looked at the Greek affectionately. "You are worthy to hear me; poor, like myself, surrounded by these merchants who stock their vaults with silver! Since there is to be no wine for us, let us take a walk. That clears the brain. I will treat you as Aristotle treated his favorite pupils." Strolling along the portico Euphobias began to relate what he knew of Sónnica's life.