"Scoundrel! Do you know what it has cost me, that mouthful of flesh you tore out of the face of the noble Trymalcion? Do you know, ferocious beast? That mouthful of flesh cost me twenty sous of gold! More than half of what I sold you for, for I am responsible for your misdeeds, wretch! while you are in my stall, double villain! So that it is I who have made a present of your daughter to the old man. She was sold to him for twenty gold sous, which I paid in his stead. He insisted upon it. And even so I got off cheaply. He demanded that indemnity."[33] "That monster is not dead! Hena! he is not dead!" I cried in despair. "And my daughter is not dead either! Hesus, Teutates, take pity on my daughter!" "Your daughter, gallows bird! Your daughter is in Trymalcion's hands, and it is upon her he will wreak his revenge on you. He rejoices over the circumstance in advance. He sometimes is taken with savage caprices, and is rich enough to indulge them." I was unable to make answer to these words, save with long drawn out moans. "And that is not all, infamous scoundrel! I have lost the confidence of the centurion to whom I sold you. He reproached me with having outrageously deceived him; with having sold him, instead of a lamb, a tiger who exercised his teeth upon rich patricians. He wanted to sell you right back. To sell you back, as if anyone would consent to buy--after such an exhibition! As well buy a wild beast. Luckily for me, I received the deposit before witnesses. The fierceness of your nature will not set aside the contract; the centurion has no choice but to keep you. He'll keep you, I warrant, but he'll make you pay dear for your criminal instincts. Oh, you don't know the life that awaits you in the _ergastula_! You don't know--" "But my son," I asked, interrupting the "horse-dealer," well knowing that he would answer out of cruelty. "Is my son also sold? To whom?" "Sold? And who do you think would still want him? Sold? Better say given away. You bring bad luck to everybody, double traitor. Did not your ragings and the shrieks of that mis-born limb teach everyone that he is of your beastly blood? No one offered even an obole for him! Who would buy a wolf's whelp? Anyway, I was going to speak to you about that son of yours, to delight your father's heart. Know that he was given to boot by my partner at the end of the sale, to the same purchaser to whom he sold the grey-haired matron, who will be good to turn a mill-wheel." "And that purchaser," I enquired, "who is he? What is he going to do with my son?" "That purchaser is the centurion--your master!" "Hesus!" I exclaimed, hardly able to believe what I heard. "Hesus, you are kind and merciful. At least I shall have my son near me."