The curtain was lifted. The crowd of spectators recoiled, and two Cappadocian mares, a white and a black, pushed into the stables, ridden by a young horsewoman, who, with a guttural cry, adroitly leapt from one beast to another, and thence to the ground. She was solidly-built, hale and sprightly as her mares, and upon her bare body shone fine drops of sweat. Zephirinus, the elegant sub-deacon of the Basilica of the Holy Apostles, smilingly hastened towards her. A great lover of the circus, a frequenter of races and racing-stables, this young man would wager heavy sums for the blue (_veneta_) against the green (_prasina_). With his red-heeled morocco boots, his painted eyes, and curled hair, Zephirinus had much more the appearance of a young girl than of a servant of the church. Behind him stood a slave, burdened with packets of pretty stuffs and boxes, purchases of every kind from famous shops. "Krokala, here are the perfumes you asked for the day before yesterday." The sub-deacon offered the equestrienne a flask sealed with blue wax. "I've been hunting in shops all the morning, and have only found it in one. It is pure nard, and arrived yesterday from Apamea!" "And what purchases are these?" demanded Krokala. "Oh, the silks in fashion!... ornaments--sets of jewels!" "All of them for your----?" "Yes, all for my most noble sister, the devout matron Bezilla; one _must_ help one's near relatives! She trusts nobody's taste but mine for choosing stuffs. From early morning I am under her orders. My head goes round, but I don't complain. No!... No!... Bezilla is so good ... such a holy woman!" "Unfortunately old," laughed Krokala. "Here, boy, wipe the sweat off the black mare with fresh fig leaves." "Old age also has its virtues," replied the sub-deacon, gently rubbing together his white hands; they were loaded with rings. Then he whispered in Krokala's ear: "This evening?" "I'm not sure ... perhaps. Are you going to bring me something?" "You needn't be afraid, Krokala, I won't come empty-handed! There's a piece of stuff ... a quite marvellous pattern." He kissed two of his fingers, adding: "Something perfectly dazzling!" "Where did you pick it up?" "Oh, at Pyrmix's of course, near the baths. For what do you take me? You might make a long _tarantinidion_ out of it. You can't imagine what embroidery there is on it! Guess the subject!" "I don't know!... Flowers--animals?" "In gold and silk--the whole story of Diogenes, the Cynic." "Ah, that must be pretty!" cried the girl. "Come, by all means, I shall expect you." Zephirinus glanced at the _clepsydra_, a water-clock placed in a niche in the wall. "I am late--quite late! I must go on to a money-lender, a jeweller, then the patriarch, and then to the church. Till then, good-bye." "Don't forget," Krokala cried to him, with a mischievous gesture. The sub-deacon disappeared, followed by his slave.