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Updated: June 14, 2025
Xanthe felt and saw that her father was suffering, and exclaimed in a fearless, resolute tone: "Silence, Semestre! your scolding is hurting my father." These words increased the house-keeper's wrath instead of lessening it. In a half-furious, half-whining tone, she exclaimed: "So it comes to this! The child orders the old woman.
The latter usually shouted a loud "Joy be with you!" whenever he met the old man, but to-day answered his greeting only with a sorrowful nod and low murmur. The steward had stepped in front of him, laid his hard hand on the donkey's head, and asked: "Do you call your ass Semestre?" Mopsus blushed, and answered: "In future I shall call all she-asses that, but the old Megaera named this one Jason."
"But he doesn't shoot," cried Jason, "when he knows that another shaft has already pierced the maiden's heart. Any man can win any girl, except one whose soul is filled with love for another." "The gray-headed old bachelor speaks from experience," retorted Semestre, quickly. "And your Phaon! If he really loved our girl, how could he woo another or have her wooed for him?
She wore her handsomest garments, and had carefully arranged her beautiful fair hair reflecting as she did so on many different things, for maidens are fond of thinking when seated at the loom or spinning-wheel, or quietly occupied in adorning their tresses. Semestre followed close behind, and gave her a small knife, saying: "It is seemly to decorate the door of a welcome guest with flowers.
"But not so very courageous this time as it might seem," answered Protarch, smiling. "Praxilla is an estimable widow, and it was for her I purchased in Messina the matron's robes for which you asked, Semestre." "For her?" murmured the old woman. "There is a blue one among them too, which will be becoming, for she has light brown hair very slightly mixed with gray.
Now, as she stood beside the sepulchre, she thought of the hour when she had comforted him, of her care for him and how it had all been vain, for he spent his nights in rioting with flute-playing women. Yes, Semestre had said so. He seemed to Xanthe lost, utterly lost.
"Alciphron's son a 'stranger' on the estates of his ancestors!" exclaimed Semestre. "What don't we hear? But I must go to work to prepare the best possible reception for Leonax, that he may feel from the first he is no stranger here, but perfectly at home. Now go, if you choose, and offer sacrifices to Aphrodite, that she may join the hearts of Xanthe and Phaon. I'll stick to my spit."
There she goes after Chloris, to save the second cheese." Xanthe smiled assent. Her father raised his voice and called to the juggler: "Well, my little friend, show what your actors can do. You young people, Mopsus and Dorippe, for aught I care, can dance as long as the monaulus sounds, and Semestre stays in the house."
The last words were addressed to Semestre as well as the dwarf, for the old house-keeper, with panting breath and trembling hands, now approached her master.
"Nothing, Jason, nothing at all; that is, just as much as Xanthe feels for Phaon. But what's that noise outside the door?" The house-keeper was still talking, when one of the folding doors opened a little, and Dorippe called through the crack: "May we come in? Here's a messenger from Protarch." "Admit him," cried Semestre, eagerly.
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