She waited impatiently till this torrent of praise had passed, and then said to Cotta, the host —
"Lucius, I have brought you a monk of the desert, Paphnutius, the Abbot of Antinoë. He is a great saint, whose words burn like fire."
Lucius Aurelius Cotta, the Prefect of the Fleet, rose, and replied —
"You are welcome, Paphnutius, you who profess the Christian faith. I myself have some respect for a religion that has now become imperial. The divine Constantine has placed your co-religionists in the front rank of the friends of the empire. Latin wisdom ought, in fact, to admit your Christ into our pantheon. It was a maxim of our forefathers that there was something divine in every god. But no more of that. Let us drink and enjoy ourselves while there is yet time."
Old Cotta spoke tranquilly. He had just studied a new model for a galley, and had finished the sixth book of his history of the Carthaginians. He felt sure he had not lost his day, and was satisfied with himself and the gods.
"Paphnutius," he added, "you see here several men who are worthy to be loved — Hermodorus, the High Priest of Serapis; the philosophers Dorion, Nicias, and Zenothemis; the poet Callicrates; young Chereas and young Aristobulus, both sons of dear old comrades; and near them Philina and
