Marsyas lingered with an averted face, which Agrippa tried in vain to understand. He added nothing to emphasize his avowal; perhaps he realized at that moment, more keenly than ever afterward, how much a man wants to be believed. Presently the young man spoke in another tone. "Who is this Peter, that I may not ask him for a loan?" "I owe him a talent already," Agrippa answered with a lazy smile, "which he advanced to me while he was yet my mother's slave." "Then thou knowest him! How--how is he favored in disposition?" "How is Peter favored? Are slaves favored? Nay, they are tempered like asses, cattle and apes--like beasts. Wherefore, this Peter is voracious, balky, amiable enough if thou yieldest him provender--not bad, but, like any donkey, could be better." Marsyas' eyes fell again; it seemed that he hesitated at his next question, as though upon its answer turned a matter of great moment. "Art thou in all truth assured that this Alexandrian will lend thee money?" he asked presently, beset by the possibility of doubt. Agrippa laughed outright. "Jove, but this questioning hath a familiar ring! Surely thou wast sired of a money-lender, Marsyas, else his inquiries would not arise so naturally to thy lips! Will the Alexandrian lend? Of a surety! And even if not, then will my mother's friend, the noble Antonia, Caesar's sister-in-law. If Caesar had not been so precipitate and hastened me out of Rome, I should have borrowed the sum of her ten years ago. I have not borrowed of the Alexandrian ere this because I had not the money to carry me thither." After a pause, Agrippa anticipated a further question and continued. "The Alexandrian is Alexander Lysimachus, the noblest Jew a generation hath produced. Even Rome, that hath such little use for our blood, waives its ancient judgment against Lysimachus. He is alabarch of the Jews in Alexandria, able as a Roman, just as a Jew, refined as a Greek, versatile as an Alexandrian. I saw him four years ago, here, in Jerusalem, when he brought his wife's remains to bury them on sacred soil. He had with him two sons, one a man, grown, with his father's genius, but without his father's soul; the other a handsome lad of undeveloped character, and a daughter, a veritable sprite for beauty, and a sibyl for wits. I was afraid of her; I, a Herod and a married man, turning forty, was afraid of her! But get me the twenty thousand drachmae, Marsyas, and thou shall see her--_Hercle_--a thousand pardons! I forgot that thou art an Essene!" Marsyas stood silent once more, and Agrippa waited. "And yet one other thing, my lord," the Essene said finally. "I serve thee no less for love, because I serve thee also for a purpose. Thou wilt not forget to serve me, when thou comest to thine own?"