CHAPTER IX
The morning was already grey over the distant Sabine hills191 when Quintus, followed by his clients and slaves,192 left the scene of festivity. With him came Clodianus and the poet Martial; the former accompanied, like himself, by a number of dependents and satellites, the latter by a single slave, whose smoky little lamp looked absurd enough by the side of the handsome lanterns and torches of the rest of the escort.
“A mad night!” sighed Martial, looking up. “The stars are already twinkling like eyes dim at leave-taking. Illustrious Clodianus, you will make my excuses to my patron, the chamberlain Parthenius, if I should fail to offer my morning greeting. Getting up early is my greatest torment,193 even when I have crept between the coverlets at betimes, and to-day, after this unpardonable dissipation…”
Clodianus laughed.
“I will explain it to him,” he roared out in the fresh morning air. “However – I shall hardly see him before noon. I am as tired myself, as if I had been sawing stone all night.”
“Yes, it is frightful to be so tired! I would give ten years of my life, if I might only sleep half the day. But on the contrary, before cock-crow, I must be out of bed, fling my toga over my shoulders, and be bowing to noblemen! By Castor! if I were not an ass, I should long since have fled to the peace and quietness of my native town!”
“Well, sleep to-day till sundown! Just now Parthenius will be most willing to excuse you, for his head is so full of business, and Caesar makes such incessant claims upon his time, that he is glad when his best friends leave him in peace.”
“I heard the same thing from my father,” added Quintus. “Some great stroke seems to be in hand. Is nothing known of the facts?”
“Pah! it is the talk of the town. Plots dangerous to the state, treason to religion and society, conspiracies against Caesar…”
“But the facts – the details…?”
“You know,” said Clodianus laughing, “that in affairs of state, silence is as important, as valor is in battle!”
“Well said!” cried the poet.194 “With a little suitable embellishment, that may be turned into a brilliant epigram. Now, noble friends, I will bid you farewell. Our roads are no longer the same. I must climb up here to the temple on the Quirinal, while you go down into the valley. In life it is just the reverse. Apollo preserve you!” He hastily turned up the street, while Clodianus and Quintus went on along the ‘Long Way.’
“Aye!” said the crafty Clodianus. “I have constantly to remind myself of the duty of silence; more than once has my rash tongue run away with me. I come of an easy-tempered race, which are apt to talk without stopping to think. It is wrong, by Hercules! – it is wrong!”
They had now reached the Subura.195 The height of the five, six, or more-storied houses,196 and the narrowness of the way here, only allowed the day to dawn slowly and late, and deep gloom still prevailed in the numerous taverns197 and entries. At the same time busy life was already stirring on all sides; itinerant bakers198 were wandering from door to door crying their fresh bread. Pedagogues,199 with their writing implements and clay lamps, were leading files of boys to school. Here and there, from a side alley, might be heard the croaking chant of a teacher, and the babble of spelling children.200 Groups of worshippers, on their way to perform their morning devotions in the neighboring temple of Isis, hurried across the loudly-echoing pavement.
“Day is coming upon us apace,” said Quintus, as he stopped in front of the entrance to the "Cyprius street"201 and held out his hand to the adjutant.
“Our roads part here, and we must make haste if we mean to reach home before sunrise.”
“Will you be at the Baths at about noon?”
“Possibly. – If I get up in time.”
“Well then – let us hope that the wine-cup of Lycoris may leave you free of headache.”
“The same to you! Farewell.” And with these words Quintus went on his way, while Clodianus turned off to the right.
“Cyprius street” grew at every step more select and consequently more deserted; to the left the Baths of Titus stood up, a sharply-defined mass, against the rose-tinted sky. Each time that Quintus Claudius walked up the street, this vast pile seemed to have a fresh spell for him. The contrast between the ponderous mass, and the tender flush of Autumn dawn behind him, filled him with pleasurable admiration, and his eye followed a flock of pigeons, which for some few minutes soared to and fro above the great building and then, with sudden swiftness, flew across the road.
“They came from the left,” said he to one of his companions. “Now, if I believed in augury from the flight of birds, I should be forced to suppose that some evil was hanging over me.”
He was still speaking, when from the same side, where a narrow path came down from the great Baths, a muffled figure rushed upon him and hit him a blow with a bare poniard. Happily the ruffian at the same instant slipped on the sloping pavement – which was rendered even more slippery by the early morning dew – so that the dagger missed its aim, and instead of piercing the young man’s throat, passed across his left shoulder and through the folds of his toga, which it cut through as sharply as a razor. And before Quintus quite understood what had happened, the assassin had glided away between the slaves with the suppleness of a panther, and vanished in the direction of the Subura. The young man gazed at his arm, where the toga and under-garment hung in long strips; the wound was but skin-deep, a spot of blood had here and there oozed out.
“Let it be!” said Quintus to the slaves, who had crowded round him when their first stupified astonishment was over. “I know very well where that blade was sharpened, and for the future I will be more cautious. But one thing I must say to you; my good people, each and all, be silent as to this attack. You too, my excellent friends and clients – you know how easily my noble father is alarmed. If he knew that there was in all Rome a villain, who had threatened my life, he would never know another moment’s peace.”
“My lord, you know us!” exclaimed the slaves and freedmen, and the clients too professed their devotion.
“His revenge is prompt!” thought Quintus, as he went onwards. “I always knew him to be an example of audacity and ruthlessness – still, such impatience as this is somewhat a surprise to me.”
Then suddenly he stood still, as a new and almost impossible idea flashed across his mind. – “If it were … supposing… Could Domitia…?”
He pressed his hands over his eyes, and that which had at first seemed so plain, intelligible and obvious, now sank back into the mists of doubt and conjecture.
The slaves had by this time extinguished their torches and lanterns. – Broad daylight shone in cloudless beauty over the widely-spread city of the Seven Hills. The great temple of Isis lay flooded with gold; a procession of priests,202 bearing the image of the goddess, came marching down the street.
“Get on!” cried Quintus. “I am tired to death. It was a folly, Blepyrus, to dismiss the litters.”
“It was wisdom, my lord!” said the slave. “If I still am honored with your confidence, I would again repeat…”
“Ah well!” Quintus interrupted. “Very likely you are right – you leeches are always right.203 If only you attain a proportionate result! But if exercise were everything, I should be the lightest-hearted man in Europe. Nay, my good Blepyrus, this dissatisfaction, this intolerable sense of ill lies deeper…”
In a few minutes they had reached home. The ostiarius204 was standing at the door, as if the master of the house were impatiently expected. Quintus was about to cross the threshold, when he heard himself loudly called by name.
“What do I see? Euterpe! All hail to you – so soon returned to Rome?”
“Yes, my lord, since yesterday,” answered the flute-player hastily. “And ever since I came, I have been incessantly trying to find you. Do you still remember,” she went on in a low voice, “what you promised me at Baiae?”
“Certainly, my pretty one. Quintus Claudius sticks to his bargain … besides… But who is the grey-headed old man with you there? Your husband or your father?”
“My husband is young, and my father is dead. – This is Thrax Barbatus, Glauce’s father.”
“And who is Glauce?”
“What – did I never tell you about Glauce – out there, on the hills by Baiae? I must have forgotten in the midst of all my trouble. Glauce is to be married to our Eurymachus…”
“Ah! the heroic sufferer, that Stephanus had flogged?”
“The very same, my lord! And you promised me to remember…”
“True, true – come to me in the course of the afternoon…”
“Ah! my lord, but that will be too late. Eurymachus is in danger of his life…”
“What, again!”
“Oh! be merciful, most noble Quintus! Give us only five minutes audience! You alone can save him.”
“Come in, then!”
He led the way through the atrium into his private room.
“My lord,” the flute-player began again, “I will tell my story shortly. Eurymachus rebelled against the Empress’ steward, who wanted to persuade him to all sorts of disgraceful conduct. Stephanus flogged him first, and then obtained permission to crucify him at the next festival. This I heard from the gate-keeper. But there was no festival fixed for yesterday, so there is still some hope, and we entreat you…”
“Be calm – for the present your friend is in safety.”
“Impossible – he is lying in chains…”
“He was lying in chains. His execution was fixed for yesterday, but at the last moment he was snatched from the jaws of peril.”
“What?” cried Thrax Barbatus, speaking for the first time. “Did I hear you rightly, snatched from his fetters! Then Glauce was able to carry out what she proposed.”
“Free?” said Euterpe, looking up at Quintus in bewilderment.
“As I tell you.”
“Oh, now I see it all!” cried Thrax Barbatus. “This pretended journey to Ostia – what had your husband to do in Ostia? And Philippus, my son, who has hardly been in Rome a week – why should he want to accompany Diphilus…” Then, seized with terror, he sank on the ground before Quintus and threw his arms round his knees.
“Oh, my lord! do not take advantage of the rash words of a miserable father!” he exclaimed vehemently. “Do not betray, what my tongue let slip in my fear and anxiety.”
“Be easy, old man!” said Quintus benevolently. “I am not one of the spies of the city-guard. Your friend is a hero, and courage always commands my sympathy.”
“Thanks, thanks!” sobbed the old man, covering the young noble’s hands with kisses. “But tell me, pray, how it all happened; how is it possible that, in the midst of such a crowd of servants…”
“All is possible to those who dare all. What I heard – and the merest accident prevented my being an eye witness – aroused as much astonishment in me, as in you. All the bystanders seemed to have been paralyzed. It was like an eagle in the Hyrcanian mountains,205 swooping down on a lamb. One man particularly, a stalwart, broad-shouldered fellow, did wonders of valor…”
Thrax Barbatus drew himself up with the elasticity of youth. Happy pride sparkled in his eyes, and an expression – a radiance, as it were, of beatific affection illuminated his rugged and strongly-wrinkled features.
“That was Philippus, my son!” he said with a trembling voice. “Oh! it was not for nothing, that he fought for years against the Dacians, not in vain that he endured frost and heat. There is not a man in all the legion that is his match in skill and strength; not one that can beat him in running or in lance-throwing. But speak, my lord; you look so grave, so sad! What is it? Oh, for God’s sake, in Christ’s name – it is impossible! My son, my Philippus! – but he could stand against twenty – speak, my lord, or you will kill me…”
“Poor old man,” said Quintus much moved, “what good will it do to conceal the truth from you? Your son is dead. Scorning to fly, he exposed himself too long to his foes. He died like a hero.”
Thrax Barbatus uttered a soul-piercing cry, and fell backwards to the ground; Euterpe flung herself upon him and clasped his head to her heart, weeping bitterly.
“Thrax – dear, good friend,” she sobbed out: “Control yourself, collect yourself! Show yourself strong in this terrible trouble! Consider, you will have Glauce, and Eurymachus, who loves you like a son.”
The old man slowly pulled himself up; he pushed Euterpe violently aside, and then sinking on to his knees, raised his hands in passionate appeal to Heaven. His lips moved in prayer, but no sound was heard. Quintus, lost in astonishment, stood leaning against a pillar, while Euterpe wept silently, her face buried in her arm. A terrible storm seemed to be raging in the old man’s soul; his breast rose and fell like a wind-tossed sea, and a wild fire glowed in his eyes. But by degrees he grew calmer, and his features assumed an expression of sorrowing and silent resignation. It was as though a tender and beatific ray of forgiveness lighted them up, growing clearer each moment. After a time he rose.
“Pardon me, my lord,” he said slowly. “I was stricken down by the vastness of my grief. He fell like a hero, you said? And Eurymachus is safe?”
“He escaped,” replied Quintus, “which, alas! is not quite the same thing. Every effort will be made to recover possession of the fugitive. Well, we must see what can be done. Accident has enlisted me on your side, and I will play the part out to the end. For the present leave me; I am tired out, and a tired man is of no use as an adviser; but this evening, about the second vigil,206 I will find my way to your dwelling, unaccompanied.”
“Father in Heaven, I thank Thee!” cried Thrax Barbatus vehemently. “Blessings, oh! blessings on the head of this noble and generous youth! Farewell, my lord! Never, never will I forget your gracious kindness to us helpless wretches.”
With these words he left the room, and Euterpe followed him. Quintus went at once to his curtained cubiculum,207 undressed with the help of the faithful Blepyrus and soon fell asleep.
CHAPTER X
“Really, Baucis, you are very clumsy again today!” cried Lucilia, half-vexed and half-saucily. “Do you want to pull that fine, luxuriant hair, that the greatest poet might rave about, all out by the roots. I have shown you a hundred times how the arrow is to be put through, and you always towzle my hair as old Orbilius208 does the schoolboys!”
“Ingratitude for thanks, all the world over!” muttered the old slave, casting a last glance at Lucilia’s curls, her successful handiwork. “I suppose you would like to stick a pin into me.209 Really, the young people of the present day are like babies or dolls. And if the gold pin slips and the plaits come down, then it is the old woman who is to blame and there is no end of the fuss. Ah! you naughty girl,210 how do you expect to get on when you are married, you impatient little thing! Many a time will you have to sigh, when your husband is out of temper! Many a time will you say to yourself: ‘Ah! if only I had learned a little patience when I was younger!’”
“You are greatly mistaken,” said Lucilia in a declamatory tone. “The days are over, when the husband was master over everything in the house. What woman now-a-days will submit to a wedding with offerings of corn?211 We have grown wiser, and know what such offerings are meant to symbolize – we are to surrender our liberty to the very last grain! So I should think! If ever I marry… But what are you about? Will you ever have done fidgetting with that tiresome necklace? Do look, Claudia, how she is tormenting me!”
Claudia was sitting in holiday attire in front of a handsome citrus-wood212 table, holding in her hands the ivory roller of an elegantly-written book. When Lucilia spoke to her she absently raised her soft, fawn-like eyes, laid the roll aside and stood up.
“You look like Melpomene,” cried Lucilia enthusiastically, while Baucis draped her stola.213 “If I were Aurelius, I should have my head turned by the sight of you. How well the folds of your dress fall, and how admirably the border lies on the ground, oh! and your hair! Do you know I am quite in love myself with that hair; it goes so beautifully with the soft brown of your eyes. That dark fair hair, with a kind of dim lustre, is too lovely; my stupid, every-day brown looks no better by the side of it than a cabbage next a rose. Of course, too, Baucis takes three times as much pains with you as with me. Tell me yourself, is not this arrow all askew again?”
So speaking she took a polished metal mirror214 from the table, and studied her coiffure first from the right and then from the left, while one of the young slave-girls, who stood round Baucis, came to her assistance with a second mirror.
“It is quite horrid!” she said crossly. “In short every single thing is wanting in me to-day, that could please the fancy of any human being. Never was my fatal snub-nose so short and broad, never was my mouth so wide and vulgar. And listen, Claudia, in spite of all its beauty, I can do without going to Baiae for the future. I gained twenty pounds in weight there, and brought home three dozen freckles. It is a lucky thing, that I have a philosophic soul! If I were in love now with some son of the gods, by Socrates’ cup of hemlock I should be desperate with rage!”
“You are only fishing for praise,” said Claudia, stroking her sister’s cheek. “But you know I am but ill-skilled in the art of paying compliments.”
“Silly girl!” said Lucilia. “As if praise could mend an evil. Do you suppose I want to do as the young law students do, who hire flatterers to praise them?215 Nay, no bribery is possible, when we stand before the Centumvirate216 who judge of beauty. – And, my good Baucis, what are you staring at now, like a country cousin at a circus. Make haste and get dressed, you old sinner, or Cinna’s cook will have burnt the pasty.”
“I shall be ready in an instant,” replied Baucis. “At my time of life dressing need not take long. Who looks at the hawthorn, I wonder, when roses are in bloom?” and she hurried away.
Lucilia and Claudia went out into the colonnade where, arm in arm, they slowly paced the gleaming marble pavement. As they turned the farther corner of the quadrangle, they saw their mother coming towards them at a leisurely pace.
“Quintus is ready and waiting,” she said pleasantly.
“And you, dear mother?” asked Lucilia. “Do you really mean to stay at home?”
“It is such a pity,” added Claudia. “We are accustomed, alas! to my father’s never accompanying us to see Cornelia, but you – what need you care about the debates in the senate? Besides, Cornelius Cinna is related to your family. Your views as to what contributes to the prosperity of the Roman people differ no doubt…”
“In Jupiter’s name, child!” cried Octavia horrified. “Claudia, what are you saying? If your father were to hear you…”
“But, my dear mother,” answered the girl, “I am only speaking the truth. There are many very estimable men…”
“Be silent – when and where did you pick up such notions? Attend to your music and your poets, give your mind to the flowers you twist into your hair, but never meddle with the mysteries of state-craft.”
The young girl looked down in some confusion.
“Do not pay any heed to it, mother dear!” said Lucilia. “She chatters without thinking. But, once more – do come with us. Cornelius Cinna will very likely not be visible; you know how strangely the old man behaves. Come, mother – and remember, dear little mother, it is Cornelia’s birthday. She will certainly feel hurt, if the mother of her future husband lets the day pass without going to embrace her.”
“It is of no use; your father’s wishes have always been my law. Believe me, my sweet child, the utmost I can do is to allow you to visit at that house…”
“Come, that would be too bad, mother! I really believe, that if he had not formally released Quintus from his filial bondage, he would have been capable of forbidding the marriage.”
“It is quite possible,” replied Octavia. “That noble soul places the commonwealth above every other consideration. You can hardly imagine, how unswervingly he goes on the road he believes to be the right one.”
“Oh yes! I know his resolute nature,” said Claudia, “and I honor and admire it. Say no more, Lucilia; mother is right. A man must never yield even a hand-breadth, and silent obedience is a wife’s first duty.”
“You are my dear good child,” said Octavia much touched. “And believe me when I say, that the fulfilment of this duty, hard as it seems, is a heartfelt joy when such a man as your father is the husband. He is strict and firm, but not a tyrant; he is always ready to listen to reason, and to take council with the chosen companion of his life. Nay, he is not above learning from the humblest. On one point only he stands like a rock against which the surf beats in vain, and that point is Duty.”
“Here comes Baucis!” cried Lucilia with a laugh of saucy amusement. “Hail, oh fairest of brides, clad in the garb of rejoicing! Baucis in sky-blue! If this does not procure her a Philemon, I must despair of the fate of humanity.”
“You hear, mistress, how shamefully she mocks your waiting-woman,” said Baucis in lamentable tones. “I can never do anything right. If I wear grey, she hints at an ass; if I put on a handsome dress, she laughs at me to my face. However, what I had to say is, that the litters are at the door and the young master has asked three times if his sisters were coming.”
“We are quite ready,” said Claudia.
A dense crowd had gathered outside the vestibule. Quintus, with only three of his slaves, was waiting impatiently in the entrance. The twelve litter-bearers in their red livery stood by the poles, and eight negroes – the van and rear-guard of the procession – were staring vacantly into the air. A number of idlers had collected round these – the inquisitive gapers who always swarmed wherever there was anything to be seen, however trivial. These were the class who, not choosing to work, lived on the corn given away by the state;217 the uproarious mob who filled the upper rows of seats in the theatres and circus; the populace whose suffrages no Caesar was too proud to court, since it was among these that arbitrary despotism had its most staunch adherents, in the struggle against the last remnants of a free and freedom-loving aristocracy.
“Oh! how handsome she is!” ran from mouth to mouth among the loiterers, as Claudia stepped into the foremost litter; Lucilia took her place by her adopted sister’s side. The second litter was to carry Baucis and a young slave girl.
“Make way!” cried the principal runner, stepping among the crowd, who fell back, and the procession set out. Quintus followed on foot at a short distance.
Their way led them through the Forum and past the venerable temple of Saturn, where the Roman state-treasure was kept. To the right on the Palatine, spread the enormous palaces of the Caesars, and among them the capitol and the splendid but scarcely-finished residence of Domitian. Proceeding but slowly, they reached the Arch of Titus218 and then, leaving the fountain of the Meta Sudans219 and the vast Flavian amphitheatre220 to the right, they turned into the street leading to the Caelimontana Gate.221 The throng of humanity, which in the neighborhood of the Forum defied all description, here became somewhat thinner; and the litter-bearers mended their pace. In about ten minutes they stopped at a house, which in point of magnificence was hardly inferior to that of the Flamen Titus Claudius Mucianus. In the vestibule, beside the door-keeper, there stood a stout little woman, who hailed the visitors from afar with a broad grin, and was most eager to be of use to the young ladies as they alighted. This little woman was Chloe, Cornelia’s maid; her mistress now appeared on the scene, a tall and finely-made young girl, with hair as black as night, dressed entirely in white and wearing no ornament but a string of large, softly-gleaming pearls. The girls embraced each other warmly.
Quintus had by this time joined them; with a tender light in his eyes he went straight up to his betrothed and kissed her gravely on the forehead. “All health, happiness and blessing on you, on your birthday,222 my sweet Cornelia!” he said affectionately; then taking her hand he led her into the atrium. This was festally decorated with flowers; in the middle stood a hearth223 after the old fashion, but there were no images of the Lares and Penates. Cornelius Cinna held the opinions and views of the world at large, which had been taught by Lucretius224 and Pliny the Elder;225 he thought it folly to enquire curiously as to the form and aspect of the Divinity, or even of any particular god or goddess; since, if there be indeed a Power beyond and behind Nature, that Power must be Force and Wisdom pure and simple. Hence he contemned all the ordinary household gods.
Eight or ten guests were already assembled in the atrium, among them Caius Aurelius and his faithful follower Herodianus.
The young Batavian did not at first seem to observe the new arrivals. He was standing in grave conversation with the master of the house, whose gloomy and almost sinister countenance by no means harmonized with the gay decorations of the hearth and the Corinthian columns.
“I thank you,” said Cinna offering the young man his hand. “Your words have done me good. But now, ask no farther…”
“As you desire…”
“One thing more, my dear Caius – Quintus Claudius too must know how strongly I feel on this point. After dinner bring him, as if by chance, into my study…”
“Trust to me.”
“Very good; and now for a few hours I will try to banish these memories from my soul. As you see me, Caius, you may think it a miracle that I am not choked by the insult! And not a soul that could sympathize with me! Nerva, my old friend, was absent. Even Trajan was so far off as Antium226…”
“And Caius Aurelius was too young and too much a stranger?” said the Batavian laughing.
“Yes, I must confess that it was so. From the first, it is true, I saw you to be an admirable youth, and I thank my friend at Gades, who sent you with letters of introduction to me; but I could not guess how early ripe and truly noble your whole nature was, how fervent your patriotism and how unconquerable your pride. – But in all truth, Aurelius, from this day forth – here comes Quintus and his sisters; we part for the present, but do not forget!”
His face, which had brightened somewhat as he spoke, fell again to the expression of grave, almost sinister determination, which characterized his strongly-marked features. He crossed the atrium to the entrance where the young people, surrounded by their guests, were chatting gaily. Cinna pressed the hand of his niece’s lover – kindly, but yet with a certain reserve – and addressed a few half-jesting words to the girls; but when Claudia attempted to offer such apology as best she might for her mother’s absence, he turned away as if he did not hear.
At this moment the noble figure of an old man appeared in the doorway; with a gleaming white toga over his shoulders and flowing snowy locks, his towering height gave him a majestic presence.
“Cocceius Nerva,” whispered the Batavian to Herodianus, who came up to him to ask.
“By Castor!” said the freedman, “but if I had met this man on arriving here, I should have said that he and no other must be the ruler of the world.”
“Remember, we are in Rome, and you will do well to keep such ideas to yourself.”
Cornelius Cinna led the illustrious senator to a handsome marble seat covered with carpets, and a circle of reverent friends formed round him at once.
“By all the gods,” muttered Herodianus, “may I perish if that marble seat does not look for all the world like a throne; and they stand round him like the guard round Caesar. – And now, as he raises his right hand! If he were but thirty years younger, he would be like that image of Zeus we bought a while since in Gades; he only lacks the thunderbolt.”
“Silence!” repeated Aurelius angrily. “You have had no wine yet to-day – what will you not say when you have played your part at dinner, if you are as thirsty as usual?”
“I will not say another word,” replied the freedman.
Claudia, who till this instant had been talking eagerly with Ulpius Trajanus, a Hispanian friend of Cinna’s, of Cocceius Nerva’s – too eagerly, Aurelius thought – now went off with Cornelia under the colonnade to see the birthday gifts which, in accordance with an old Roman custom, had been sent to Cornelia early in the day. They were tastefully laid out in the arcade on brazen tables; gold brooches and necklaces among exquisite flowers; tissues mixed with silk;227 handsome books with purple edges, rolled on cylinders of amber and ebony; little slippers worked with pearls; beaten silver vessels from the hand of Mentor,228 the esteemed silversmith; Arabian and Indian perfumes from the stores of Niceros,229 the famous druggist; ribbons and trimmings of amethyst-purple;230 stuffed birds, fruits from Asia Minor, and a hundred other costly trifles from every quarter of the world made up the tribute sent to this spoilt daughter of a senatorial house.
Aurelius took advantage of the opportunity, and went to join the young girls. Claudia affected great surprise at seeing him, but immediately after gave the young man her hand with frank warmth, as though ashamed in truth of any disingenuous coquetry towards such a man as Aurelius. Still, the conversation they began was not particularly lively; they stood in front of the tables and made the usual remarks – this present was charming, that offering was splendid. Cornelia declared, that prettiest of all were the exquisite roses231 that Quintus had given her – and Claudia sighed, very softly, still she sighed.
At this moment a grinning head appeared in the frame of a door close by. This was Chloe, Cornelia’s maid.
“I beg your pardon,” she said with comical importance. “But if I disturb you, it is from sheer necessity. The steward of the tables232 cannot arrange the places for the company.”