and larches raised their heads above the red cornices and golden acroteria. Through the half-open doors could be seen bronze statues in marble vestibules, and fountains playing amidst foliage. No noise troubled the stillness of these quiet retreats. Only the distant strains of a flute could be heard. The monk stopped before a house, rather small, but of noble proportions, and supported by columns as graceful as young girls. It was ornamented with bronze busts of the most celebrated Greek philosophers.
He recognised Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, Epicurus, and Zeno, and having knocked with the hammer against the door, he waited, wrapped in meditation.
"It is vanity to glorify in metal these false sages; their lies are confounded, their souls are lost in hell, and even the famous Plato himself, who filled the earth with his eloquence, now disputes with the devils."
A slave opened the door, and seeing a man with bare feet standing on the mosaic threshold, said to him roughly —
"Go and beg elsewhere, stupid monk, or I will drive you away with a stick."
"Brother," replied the Abbot of Antinoë, "all that I ask is that you conduct me to your master, Nicias."
The slave replied, more angrily than before —
