Arsinoe screamed aloud, called in her creditors, explained to them all that had occurred and implored them to pursue the thief; and when they only listened to her with an incredulous shrug, she swore that she was speaking the truth, and promised that whether the slave were caught or not she would pay them with the price of her own and her father’s personal ornaments. She knew the name of the dealer of whom her father had bought the slave and told it to the unsatisfied dealers, who at last left her to follow up the thief as promptly as possible. Once more Arsinoe was alone. Tearless, but shivering and scarcely mistress of herself from misery and agitation, she took out her veil, flung it over her head, and hurried through the court and along the streets to her sister. Verily, since Sabina’s visit to the palace all good spirits had deserted it. CHAPTER XI. In a perfectly dark spot by the wall of the widow’s garden, stood the cynic philosopher who had met Antinous with so little courtesy, defending himself eagerly, but in low tones against the rebukes of another man, who, dressed, like himself in a ragged cloak and bearing a beggar’s wallet, appeared to be one of the same kidney. “Do not deny,” said the latter, “that you cling much to the Christians.” “But hear me out,” urged the other. “I need hear nothing, for I have seen you for the tenth time sneaking in to one of their meetings.” “And do I deny it? Do I not honestly confess that I seek truth wherever I may, where I see even a gleam of hope of finding it?” “Like the Egyptian who wanted to catch the miraculous fish, and at last flung his hook into the sand.” “The man acted very wisely.” “What now!” “A marvel is not to be found just where everything else is. In hunting for truth you must not be afraid of a bog.” “And the Christian doctrine seems to be very much such a muddy thicket.” “Call it so for aught I care.” “Then beware lest you find yourself sticking in the morass.” “I will take care of myself.” “You said just now that there were decent folks among them.” “A few no doubt. But the others! eternal gods! mere slaves, beggars, ruined handicraftstmen, common people, untaught and unphilosophical brains, and women, for the most part.” “Avoid them then.” “You ought to be the last to give me that advice.” “What do you mean?” The other went close up to him and asked him in a whisper: “Why, where do you suppose I get the money with which I pay for our food and lodging?” “So long as you do not steal it, it is all the same to me.” “If I had no more, you would ask the question fast enough.” “Certainly not, we strive after virtue and ought to do everything to render ourselves independent of nature and her cravings. But to be sure she often asserts her rights--to return then: where do you get the money?”