Parrhasius penetrated into the principal “street” of slaves, where were exposed for sale young men and young girls who appeared for one reason or another to be of the sort that would command a high price. To my great astonishment I did not catch in their eyes any great expression of sadness. They seemed merely curious. Human sadness and misery, for youth that is, has its certain measure, and they saw their sorrows were about to pass or be moderated by the care of a master. From the time of the ruin of their homes these beautiful beings had experienced to the full all that could give days and nights of despair. The young men no doubt had regained hope of their future escape: the young girls perhaps dreamed of a love that might partly release them. By bravado or by sheer ignorance of the fate in store they all showed a certain good humour. The crowd pressed around them, examining and uncertain before making a purchase. Few could have decided quickly in the midst of such a vast choice. Often they handled the slaves. Hands tested the muscles of a leg, the delicacy of a skin, the firmness of a breast. Then the intending purchasers passed on hoping to find better bargains. Parrhasius halted an instant before a girl whose tall white form was a harmony of lines. “Behold,” he said, “this is a beautiful child.” A seller at once came forward and cried-- “She is the most beautiful one offered for sale, my lord. See how straight she is and white. Sixteen years old yesterday.” “Eighteen years,” rectified the young girl. “You lie, by Zeus! She is but sixteen years, my lord; do not credit her when she says otherwise. Look at her black locks lifted up by this comb. When she uncoils her hair it falls to the knees. Look at her long white fingers, untouched by any labour. She is the daughter of a senator.” “Speak not of my father,” said the girl gravely. “She is beautiful as a water-nymph, supple as a sword, and a virgin--as at her birth.” The man disrobed her with cynical hands, but Parrhasius struck the earth with his stick, and muttered-- “Virgin, you say? I care not whether she be a virgin or not, but merely whether she be beautiful enough. Take away her shackles, that she may robe herself properly. I will purchase her. What is her name?” “Artemidora,” said she. “Ah, good. Then know, Artemidora, that you are for the future in the suite of Parrhasius.” She opened her great eyes wide, hesitated charmingly, and then said-- “You are the Parrhasius who....” “Yes, I am Parrhasius,” came the reply. Then, handing her to the care of his guard, he again walked on. Presently he deigned to explain to me-- “Bound to the Caucausus that young girl would look charming! Nevertheless, she will not be my Prometheus. She will serve me as model for certain little erotic pictures with which I ease my toils during hours of leisure--pictures that are not, however, the least noble part of my lifework.”