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“Can you do nothing for us, Cornelius?” cried Aristo. “The great people in Carthage are your friends. O Cornelius! I’d do anything for you!—I’d be your slave! She’s no more a Christian than great Jove. She has nothing about her of the cut;—not a shred of her garment, or a turn of her hair. She’s a Greek from head to foot—within and without. She’s as bright as the day! Ah! we have no friends here.
Jucundus had been pleasantly engaged in a small supper-party; and, mindful that a symposium should lie within the number of the Graces and of the Muses, he had confined his guests to two, the young Greek Aristo, who was one of his principal artists, and Cornelius the son of a freedman of a Roman of distinction, who had lately got a place in one of the scrinia of the proconsular officium, and had migrated into the province from the imperial city where he had spent his best days.
Polemo’s speech, though cumbrous, did execution, at least the termination of it, upon minds constituted like the Grecian. Aristo jumped up, swore an oath, and looked round triumphantly at Callista, who felt its force also. After all, what did she know of Christians?—at best she was leaving the known for the unknown: she was sure to be embracing certain evil for contingent good.
The maiden, who had been gazing at the little group with looks full of tenderness, timidly raised her eyes to Plato, and said, "Son of Aristo, these have not wandered so far from their divine home as we have!"
Where are you?" came in a gruff voice to him from below. He had mounted the stairs, and was now on the landing just outside Jeanne's door. He pulled the bell-handle, and heard the pleasing echo of the bell that would presently wake Madame Belhomme and bring her to the door. "Citizen! Hola! Curse you for an aristo! What are you doing there?"
"After whom?" gasped the man. "The man who was here just now an aristo." "I saw no one but the Public Letter-Writer, old Lepine I know him well " "Curse you for a fool!" shouted Heriot savagely, "the man who was here was that cursed Englishman the one whom they call the Scarlet Pimpernel. Run after him stop him, I say!"
Aristo could not at first believe he heard aright, that she refused to be saved by what seemed to him a matter of legal form; and his anger grew so high as to eclipse and to shake his affection. “Lost girl,” he cried, “I abandon you to the Furies!” and he shook his clenched hand at her. He turned away, and said he would never see her again, and he kept his word. He never came again.
That a Tyrian stranger, named Aristo, had come with a commission from Hannibal and king Antiochus; that certain men daily held secret conferences with him, and were concocting that in private, the consequences of which would soon break out, to the ruin of the public."
Cleanthes, who next comes under my notice, a disciple of Zeno at the same time with Aristo, in one place says that the world is God; in another, he attributes divinity to the mind and spirit of universal nature; then he asserts that the most remote, the highest, the all-surrounding, the all-enclosing and embracing heat, which is called the sky, is most certainly the Deity.
Next day, when the suffetes had taken their seats to administer justice, the tablet was observed, taken down, and read. Its contents were, that "Aristo came not with a private commission to any person, but with a public one to the elders;" by this name they called the senate.
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