Agias thought of the hollow civilities of Valeria's life, as he had seen it; of the outward decorum of language, of the delicately veiled compliments, of the interchange of words that summed up, in a few polished commonplaces, a whole network of low intrigue and passion.

Was this the same world! Could Valeria and Artemisia both be women! The one--a beauty, whose guilty heart was not ignorant of a single form of fashionable sin; the other--as it were, a blossom, that was pure sweetness, in whose opening petals the clear diamond of the morning dew still remained! Agias did not compare Artemisia with Cornelia; for Cornelia, in his eyes, was a goddess, and in beauty and passions was above the hope or regard of mortal men.
But what was one to do in an emergency like the following?
Agias had been singing the "Love Song" from the "Cyclops," and trying to throw into the lines all the depth of tender affection which voice and look rendered possible.
"One with eyes the fairest Cometh from his dwelling, Some one loves thee, rarest, Bright beyond my telling.
In thy grace thou shinest Like some nymph divinest, In her caverns dewy;-- All delights pursue thee, Soon pied flowers, sweet-breathing, Shall thy head be wreathing."[126] [126] Translated by Shelley.
And at the conclusion of the song Artemisia threw her arms around Agias's neck and kissed him; and then with astounding impartiality sprang into Sesostris's lap, and patted the old Ethiop's black cheeks, and bestowed on him all manner of endearing epithets.

What was poor Agias to do in such a case?
He blankly concluded that it had proved easier to blast the plot of Pratinas and Ahenobarbus, than to win the love--as he meant "love"-- of this provokingly affectionate girl.

It was growing late.

Pratinas might at any time return.