t all
eyes were turned in its direction; the two young men either forgot their
quarrel or were ashamed to prolong it in the presence of its cause.

Now the litter turned into the open. It was borne by eight gigantic
Ethiopians whose mighty shoulders were bare to the sun, and all round
and behind it a crowd of slaves, of clients, of sycophants followed in
its trail, men running beside the litter, women shouting, children
waving sprays of flowers and fans of feathers and palm leaves, whilst
the air was filled with cries from innumerable throats:

"Augusta! Augusta! Room for Dea Flavia Augusta."

The retinue of Dea Flavia of the imperial house of the Caesars was the
most numerous in Rome.

At word of command no doubt the bearers put the litter down quite close
to the rostrum even whilst four young girls stepped forward and drew the
silken curtains aside.

Dea Flavia was resting against the cushions; her tiny feet in shoes of
gilded leather were stretched out on a coverlet of purple silk richly
wrought with gold and silver threads. Her elbow was buried in the fleecy
down of the cushions; her head rested against her hand.

Dea Flavia, imperial daughter of Rome, what tongue of poet could
describe thy beauty? what hand of artist paint its elusiveness?

Have not the writers of the time told us all there was to tell? and
exhausted language in their panegyrics: the fair hair like rippling
gold, the eyes now blue, now green, always grey and mysterious, the
delicate hands, the voluptuous throat, those tiny ears ever filled with
flattery?

But methinks that the carping critic was right when he deemed that the
beauty of her face was marred by the scornful glance of the eyes and the
ever rigid lines of the mouth. There was those who had dared aver that
Dea Flavia's snow-white neck had been more beautiful if it had known how
to bend, and that the glory of her eyes would be enhanced a thousandfold
when once they learned how to weep.

This, however, was only the opinion of very few, of those in fact who
never had received the slightest favour from Dea Flavia; those on whom
she smiled--with that proud, cold smile of hers--fell an over-ready
victim to her charm. And she had smiled more than once on Hortensius
Martius, and he, poor fool! had quickly lost his head.

Now that she was present he soon forgot his quarrel; neither Escanes nor
the rest of the world existed since Dea Flavia was nigh. He pushed his
way through her crowd