And he could not answer distinctly; through his head flew merely pictures of the cemetery, the assembled crowd, and Lygia, listening with her whole soul to the words of the old man, as he narrated the passion, death, and resurrection of the God-man, who had redeemed the world, and promised it happiness on the other shore of the Styx.
When he thought of this, chaos rose in his head.

But he was brought out of this chaos by Chilo, who fell to lamenting his own fate.

He had agreed to find Lygia.

He had sought for her in peril of his life, and he had pointed her out.

But what more do they want?
Had he offered to carry the maiden away?
Who could ask anything like this of a maimed man deprived of two fingers, an old man, devoted to meditation, to science, and virtue?
What would happen were a lord of such dignity as Vinicius to meet some mishap while bearing the maiden away?
It is true that the gods are bound to watch over their chosen ones,--but have not such things happened more than once, as if the gods were playing games instead of watching what was passing in the world?
Fortune is blindfold, as is well known, and does not see even in daylight; what must the case be at night?
Let something happen,--let that Lygian bear hurl a millstone at the noble Vinicius, or a keg of wine, or, still worse, water,--who will give assurance that instead of a reward blame will not fall on the hapless Chilo?
He, the poor sage, has attached himself to the noble Vinicius as Aristotle to Alexander of Macedon.