Esther at the sight shrank within herself, and nestled closer to her father.
"Peace to you, Simonides, and to the pretty Esther peace," said Iras, inclining her head to the latter.

"You remind me, good master--if I may say it without offence-you remind me of the priests in Persia who climb their temples at the decline of day to send prayers after the departing sun.

Is there anything in the worship you do not know, let me call my father.

He is Magian-bred." "Fair Egyptian," the merchant replied, nodding with grave politeness, "your father is a good man who would not be offended if he knew I told you his Persian lore is the least part of his wisdom." Iras's lip curled slightly.
"To speak like a philosopher, as you invite me," she said, "the least part always implies a greater.

Let me ask what you esteem the greater part of the rare quality you are pleased to attribute to him." Simonides turned upon her somewhat sternly.
"Pure wisdom always directs itself towards God; the purest wisdom is knowledge of God; and no man of my acquaintance has it in higher degree, or makes it more manifest in speech and act, than the good Balthasar." To end the parley, he raised the cup and drank.
The Egyptian turned to Esther a little testily.
"A man who has millions in store, and fleets of ships at sea, cannot discern in what simple women like us find amusement.
Let us leave him.