â€˜When were you last at the house of a certain disconsolate widow, on the Quirinal?â€™
The barbarous accent with which these sentences were uttered caused Venantius almost as much disgust as the plundering purpose they avowed.
Basil, when he had rushed forth from the Anicianum, rode straightway to the Via Lata, and presented himself at Marcianâ€™s door. The porter said that his master had been absent since dawn, but Basil none the less entered, and, in the room where he and his friend were wont to talk, threw himself upon a couch to wait. He lay sunk in the most sombre thoughts, until at the door appeared Sagaris, who with the wonted suave servility, begged permission to speak to him.
â€˜You assure me,â€™ he said, â€˜that she has not yet been surrendered. I find that hard to believe. Knowing in whose power she is, how comes it that Bessas does not seize the insolent Leander, and force the truth from him? Were I the commander, would I be baffled for an hour by that sleek deacon?â€™