Yesterday each one had felt convinced that their necessity and misery had reached its height, and yet in the course of the night it had redoubled for many.  Their self-dependence was exhausted; but there still was one sage in the city who might perhaps find some new way, suggest some new means of saving the people from despair.

Stones were again flying down through the open roof, and the members of the council started up from their ivory seats and sought shelter behind the marble piers and columns.  A wild turmoil came up from the market-place to the terror-stricken Fathers of the city, and the mob was hammering with fists and clubs on the heavy doors of the Curia.  Happily they were plated with bronze and fastened with strong iron bolts, but they might fly open at any moment and then the furious mob would storm into the hall.

But what was that?

For a moment the roar and yelling ceased, and then began again, but in a much milder form.  Instead of frenzied curses and imprecations shouts now rose of “Hail, hail!” mixed with appeals:  “Help us, save us, give us council.  Long live the sage!” “Help us with your magic, Father!” “You know the secrets and the wisdom of the ancients!” “Save us, Save us!  Show those money-bags, those cheats in the Curia the way to help us!”

At this the president of the town-council ventured forth from his refuge behind the statue of Trajan—­the only image that the priesthood had spared—­and to climb a ladder which was used for lighting the hanging lamps, so as to peep out of the high window.

He saw an old man in shining white linen robes, riding on a fine white ass through the crowd which reverently made way for him.  The lictors of the town marched before him with their fasces, on to which they had tied palm branches in token of a friendly embassy.  Looking further he could see that behind the old man came a slave, besides the one who drove his ass, carrying a quantity of manuscript scrolls.  This raised his hopes, for the scrolls looked very old and yellow, and no doubt contained a store of wisdom; nay, probably magic formulas and effectual charms.

With a loud exclamation of “Here he comes!” the senator descended the ladder; in a few minutes the door was opened with a rattling of iron bolts, and it was with a sigh of relief that they saw the old man come in and none attempt to follow him.

When Horapollo entered the council-chamber he found the senators sitting on their ivory chairs with as much dignified calm as though the meeting had been uninterrupted; but at a sign from the president they all rose to receive the old man, and he returned their greeting with reserve, as homage due to him.  He also accepted the raised seat, which the president quitted in his honor while he himself took one of the ordinary chairs at his side.

The negotiation began at once, and was not disturbed by the crowd, though still from the market-place there came a ceaseless roar, like the breaking of distant waves and the buzzing of thousands of swarming bees.