upon him, laying her face to his, kissing him again and again, and between tears and laughter repeating:
"Five years, Cneius, five years!"
He said nothing. When her transports slackened, he gently disengaged himself from her caresses. Holding her hands in his, he kissed her gravely, as an indulgent uncle might salute his niece, without warmth and as a sort of matter of routine.
"This is indeed a surprise," he said, "and the greatest pleasure of my homecoming. I feel greatly honored."
"And you do not disapprove?" she queried, half timidly.
His self-contained calmness, his total lack of any loverly ardor, his obvious preoccupation with other thoughts, piqued and displeased her.
"Certainly I approve of your coming," he told her, "but I am still astonished. Why did you come?"
"Chiefly because I wanted to see you," Mucia answered, adding with a sudden brilliant inspiration of solicitous mendacity, "and particularly to warn you that there are rumors of dexterous and well-laid plans to foment a mutiny which is expected to break out this very day."
Pompey laughed gently and softly, but he
