Both remain standing beside the balustrade. A tall, handsome, middle-aged man, dressed, according to the fashion of the philosophers, in a short cloak, enters by the avenue on the left. A troop of youths accompanies him, all in girt-up garments, with wreaths of ivy in their hair, and carrying books, papers and parchments. Laughter and loud talk among them as they approach.
The Philosopher.
Let nothing fall into the water, my joyous Gregory! Remember, what you carry is more precious than gold.
Julian.
[Standing close beside him.] Your pardon,—is aught that a man may carry more precious than gold?
The Philosopher.
Can you buy back the fruits of your life for gold?
Julian.
True; true. But why, then, do you entrust them to the treacherous waters?
The Philosopher.
The favour of man is more treacherous still.
Julian.
That word was wisdom. And whither do you sail with your treasures?
The Philosopher.
To Athens.
[He is about to pass on.
