"At our age people rarely experience new emotions, but to-day, for the first time since I stopped growing, I wish I was still smaller than I am now." The invalid had shaken his head discontentedly at sight of the tiny piece, and, as the conjurer was refolding it over his knee, loosed from his shoulders the chlamys he himself wore, saying gravely: "Take this cloak, for what Lysander promises he does not perform by halves." The last words were addressed to Semestre as well as the dwarf, for the old house-keeper, with panting breath and trembling hands, now approached her master. Kind words were not to be expected from her mouth now, but even more bitter and vehement reproaches sprang to her lips as she saw her master give his scarcely-worn chlamys to a strolling vagrant, and also presume to reward her economy with taunts. She had carefully woven the cloak with her own hands, and that, she cried, was the way her labor was valued! There was plenty of cloth in the chests, which Lysander could divide among the buffoons at the next fair in Syracuse. In other countries, even among wild barbarians, white hairs were honored, but here the elders taught the young people to insult them with jeers and mockery. At these words the invalid's face turned pale, a dark shadow appeared under his eyes, and an expression of pain hovered around his mouth. He looked utterly exhausted. Every feature betrayed how the old woman's shrill voice and passionate words disturbed him, but he could not silence her by loud rebukes, for his voice failed, and he therefore sought to make peace by the soothing gestures of his thin hands and his beseeching eyes. Xanthe felt and saw that her father was suffering, and exclaimed in a fearless, resolute tone: "Silence, Semestre! your scolding is hurting my father." These words increased the house-keeper's wrath instead of lessening it. In a half-furious, half-whining tone, she exclaimed: "So it comes to this! The child orders the old woman. But you shall know, Lysander, that I won't allow myself to be mocked like a fool. That impudent Mopsus is your freed-woman's child, and served this house for high wages, but he shall leave it this very day, so surely as I hope to live until the vintage. He or I! If you wish to keep him, I'll go to Agrigentum and live with my daughter and grandchildren, who send to me by every messenger. If this insolent fellow is more to you than I am, I'll leave this place of ingratitude. In Agrigentum--" "It is beautiful in Agrigentum!" interrupted the conjurer, pointing with his finger impressively in the direction of this famous city. "It is delightful there," cried the old woman, "so long as one doesn't meet pygmies like you in the streets." The house-keeper was struggling for breath, and her master took advantage of the pause to murmur beseechingly, like a child who is to be deprived of something it loves: "Mopsus must go--merry Mopsus? Nobody knows how to lift and support me so well."