sgrace? Convinced of her guilt, he should have quietly put her away,
and the truth would have leaked out only little by little, so as to be
stripped of half of its mortification. But he had called up his slaves.
They had entered upon the scene, and would guess at everything, if they
did not know it already! The mouths of menials could not be stopped.
To-morrow all Rome would know that the imperator Sergius, whose wife had
been the wonder of the whole city for her virtue and constancy, had been
deceived by her, and for a low-born slave! Herein, for the moment,
seemed to lie half the disgrace. Had it been a man of rank and celebrity
like himself--but a slave! And how would he dare to look the world in
the face--he who had been proud of his wife's unsullied reputation, even
when he had most neglected her, and who had so often boasted over his
happy lot to those who, having the reputation of being less fortunate,
had complacently submitted themselves to bear with indifference a
disgrace which, at that age, seemed to be almost the universal doom!

Frantically revolving these matters, he raged up and down the apartment
for some moments, while Leta watched him from her obscure corner. When
would it be time for her to advance and try her art of soothing? Not
yet; for while that paroxysm of rage lasted, he would be as likely to
strike her as to listen. Once he approached within a few feet of her,
and, as she believed herself observed, she trembled and crouched behind
a vase. He had not seen her, but his eye fell upon the vase, and with
one blow he rolled it off its pedestal, and let it fall shattered upon,
the marble floor. Was it simply because the costly toy stood in his way?
Or was it that he remembered it had been a favorite of AEnone? One
fragment of the vase, leaping up, struck Leta upon the foot and wounded
her, but she dared not cry out. She rather crouched closer behind the
empty pedestal, and drew a long breath of relief as, after a moment, he
turned away.

At last the violence of his passion seemed to have expended itself, and
he sank upon the lounge, and, burying his face in his hands, abandoned
himself to more composed reflection. Now was the time for her to
approach. And yet she would not address herself directly to him, but
would rather let him, in some accidental manner, detect her presence.
Upon a small table stood a bronze lamp with a little pitcher of olive
oil beside it. The wicks were already in the sockets,