trum; Hortensius Martius still lounging aimlessly, young Escanes
who had not yet found the paragon amongst cooks, and a few others who
eyed the final proceedings with the fashionable expression of boredom.

"I wonder we have not seen Dea Flavia this day," remarked Escanes to
the praefect. "Dost think she'll come, Taurus Antinor?"

"Nay, I know not," he replied; "truly she cannot be in need of slaves.
She has more than she can know what to do with."

"Oh!" rejoined the other, "of a truth she has slaves enough. But 'tis
this new craze of hers! She seems to be in need of innumerable models
for the works of art she hath on hand."

"Nay, 'tis no new craze," interposed Hortensius Martius, whose fresh
young face had flushed very suddenly as if in anger. "Dea Flavia, as
thou knowest full well, Escanes, hath fashioned exquisite figures both
in marble and in clay even whilst thou didst waste thy boyhood in
drunken revelries. She----"

"A truce on thine ill-temper," broke in Escanes with a good-humoured
laugh. "I had no thought of disparagement for Dea Flavia's genius. The
gods forbid!" he added with mock fervour.

"Then dost deserve that I force thee down to thy knees," retorted
Hortensius, not yet mollified, "to make public acknowledgment of Dea
Flavia's beauty, her talents and her virtues, and public confession of
thine own unworthiness in allowing her hallowed name to pass thy
wine-sodden lips."

Escanes uttered a cry of rage; in a moment these two--friends and boon
companions--appeared as bitter enemies. Hortensius Martius, the perfumed
exquisite, was now like an angry cockbird on the defence, whilst
Escanes, taller and stronger than he, was clenching his fists, trying to
keep up that outward semblance of patrician decorum which the dignity of
his caste demanded in the presence of the plebs.

Who knows how long this same semblance would have been kept up on this
occasion? for Hortensius Martius, obviously a slave to Dea Flavia's
beauty, was ready to do battle for the glorification of his idol, whilst
Escanes, smarting under the clumsy insult, had much ado to keep his rage
within bounds.

"If you cut one another's throats now," interposed the praefect curtly,
"'twill be in the presence of Dea Flavia herself."

Even whilst he spoke a litter gorgeously carved and gilded, draped in
rose pink and gold, was seen slowly winding its way from the rear of the
basilica and along the Vicus Tuscus, towards the Forum. In a momen