What pure delight! Every letter sings! What does the meaning matter? All the beauty consists in the sound, in the assemblage of vowels and consonants. For that utterance I would give all the civic virtue of Juvenal and the philosophy of Lucretius! No! Just hear again! What sweetness there is in that murmur-- "'_Et Veneris dominæ volucres, mea turba columbæ!_'" and he wagged that upper lip with a smack of delight. Everybody repeated the lines of Propertius, unwearying of their charm, and embarking on a veritable orgy of quotation. "Just listen," murmured Mamertinus in his Æolian voice-- "'_Tingunt Gorgonio..._'" "_Tingunt Gorgonio_," repeated the master of chancery. "By Pallas!--why, it delights one's very palate. It's like swallowing a warm mouthful of wine mingled with Attic honey-- "'_Tingunt Gorgonio..._'" Note how the 'g's' follow each other, and then farther on-- "'_ ...punica rostra lacu._'" "Astounding! inimitable!" murmured Lampridius, shutting his eyes. Julian was ashamed and amused at this verbal intoxication. "Words should be, to a certain extent, devoid of meaning," continued Lampridius gravely; "they should flow, roar, chant, without ever bringing up short either the ear or the emotion. Then only real enjoyment of their beauty is possible." On the threshold of the door, from which the gaze of Julian had seldom departed, there now appeared, quietly as a shadow, a white and haughty figure. The open shutters allowed the moonlight to fall in, mingling with the ruddy shine of torches on the mosaic of the mirror-smooth floor, and on the wall frescoes, portraying Endymion asleep under the caresses of Selene. The apparition kept still as a statue. The antique Greek peplum of soft white wool fell in long folds, cinctured high under the breast. Moonlight illumined the robe, but the face remained in shadow. The new-comer looked at Julian and Julian looked at her. They smiled at each other, knowing that nobody observed them, and finger on lip she listened to the anecdotes of the guests. Suddenly Mamertinus, who was discussing with Lampridius grammatical peculiarities of the first and second aorist, exclaimed-- "Arsinoë! At last! So you've made up your mind to abandon physics and modelling for our company?" She came in and deigned a smile to everyone. She was the same disk-thrower whom a month before Julian had seen in the abandoned wrestling-ground. The poet Publius, knowing everybody and everything in Athens, had sought the acquaintance of Hortensius and Arsinoë, and had introduced Julian to the house.