desire to see Vinicius and to talk with him drowned in her other voices. In vain did she remember all the evil which she had heard of the house of Cæsar, and the words of Acte, and the warnings of Pomponia; in spite of those words and warnings, she felt all at once that not only must she be at that feast but that she wished to be there. At the thought that soon she would hear that dear and pleasant voice, which had spoken of love to her and of happiness worthy of the gods, and which was sounding like a song in her ears yet, delight seized her straightway.
But the next moment she feared that delight. It seemed to her that she would be false to the pure teaching in which she had been reared, false to Pomponia, and false to herself. It is one thing to go by constraint, and another to delight in such a necessity. She felt guilty, unworthy, and ruined. Despair carried her away, and she wanted to weep. Had she been alone, she would have knelt down and beaten her breast, saying, “Mea culpa! mea culpa!” Acte, taking her hand at that moment, led her through the interior apartments to the grand triclinium, in which the feast was to be. There was darkness in her eyes, and a roaring in her ears from internal emotion; the beating of her heart stopped her breath. As in a dream, she saw thousands of lamps gleaming on the tables and on the walls; as in a dream, she heard the shout with which the guests greeted Cæsar; as through a mist, she saw Cæsar himself. The shout deafened her, the glitter dazzled, the odors intoxicated; and, losing the remnant of her consciousness, she was barely able to recognize Acte, who, seating her at the table, occupied a place herself at her side.
But after a while a low and known voice was heard at the other side,—
“A greeting, most beautiful of maidens on earth and of stars in heaven. A greeting to thee, divine Callina!”
Lygia, having recovered somewhat, looked up; at her side was Vinicius.
He was without a toga, for convenience and custom had enjoined to cast aside the toga at feasts. His body was covered with only a sleeveless scarlet tunic embroidered in silver palms. His arms were bare, ornamented in Eastern fashion with two broad golden bands fastened above the elbow; below they were carefully stripped of hair. They were smooth, but too muscular,—real arms of a soldier, they were made for the sword and the shield. On his head he wore a
