get it out of my throat in time! The gods love me!"
"Did you say, Drosea, that the gods loved you?" asked Nicias, smiling. "Then they must share the same infirmities as men. Love presupposes unhappiness on the part of whoever suffers from it. and is a proof of weakness. The affection they feel for Drosea is a great proof of the imperfection of the gods."
At these words Drosea flew into a great rage.
"Nicias, your remarks are foolish and not to the point. But that is your character — you never understand what is said, and reply in words devoid of sense."
Nicias smiled again.
"Talk away, talk away, Drosea. Whatever you say, we are glad every time you open your mouth. Your teeth are so pretty!"
At that moment, a grave-looking old man, negligently dressed, walking slowly, with his head high, entered the room, and gazed at the guests quietly. Cotta made a sign to him to take a place by his side, on the same couch.
"Eucrites," he said, "you are welcome. Have you composed a new treatise on philosophy this month? That would make, if I calculate correctly, the ninety-second that has proceeded from the Nile reed you direct with an Attic hand."
