I
ought to kill her, out of jealousy. But--ugh!--it's too hot for either
jealousy or beating."

"I believe she is no longer your slave," replied Thrasaric.

"I freed her, but retained the obligation of obedience, the obsequium.
Pshaw! I would kill her for that very reason, if it weren't so hot. But
how would it do if we--I am tired of her, and I've taken a fancy to
your slender little Eugenia, perhaps on account of the contrast--how
would it do if we should--exchange?"

Thrasaric had no time to answer. The tuba blared again, and the
chariots entered in a stately procession. Five of the Blues rolled
slowly in from the right gate, five of the Greens from the left; the
chariots themselves, the reins and trappings of the horses, and the
tunics of the charioteers were respectively leek-green and light-blue.
The first three chariots of each party were drawn by four horses, the
usual number; but when the fourth appeared with five, and the last on
both sides actually had seven steeds, loud shouts of surprise and
approval rang from the upper seats, to which, though many better ones
stood empty, the Vandal directors had sent the middle and lower classes
of the Roman citizens.

"Just look, Victor," Laurus whispered to his neighbor. "Those are the
colors of the two parties in Constantinople."

"Certainly. The Barbarians imitate everything."

"But like apes playing the flute!"

"No one should attend the Circus except in a toga."

"As we do," said Victor, complacently. "But these people!--some in
coats of mail, the majority in garments as thin as spider-webs."

"Of course they will never be true residents of the south; only
degenerate northern Barbarians."

"But just look: the magnificence, the lavishness. The wheels, the very
fellies, are silvered and then twined with blue or green ribbons."

"And the bodies of the chariots! They glisten like sapphires and
emeralds."

"Where did Thrasaric get all this treasure?"

"Stolen, friend, stolen from us all. I've often told you so. But not he
himself; this generation has grown almost too lazy even for stealing
and robbing. It was his father Thrasamer and especially his
grandfather, Thrasafred. He was Genseric's right hand. And what that
means in pillaging as well as fighting cannot be imagined."

"Magnificent horses, the five reddish-brown ones! They are not
African."

"Yes, but of the Spanish stock, reared in Cyrene. They are the best."

"Yes, if there is a strain of Mo