r his health conquered the kind
heart of Ausonius.

"Saturninus! Your affection does me good. My nephew thinks only of one
disease--his own thirst! The business of the service, Tribune, is
probably over; but I entreat you to stay as my guest. Let us forget
what briefly estranged us, and remember our beautiful old friendship."

Saturninus quickly grasped the outstretched hand and pressed it warmly:
"There your heart spoke, Ausonius! I thank you. I will stay gladly." He
took his place on the third lectus, which was at the rear of the tent
opposite to the entrance and at the right of the two others. "You ought
to have known long ago that my sole wish is your welfare, your real
happiness."

Just at that moment Davus came from the table beside the entrance,
where the wine was poured, toward his master. He walked very slowly,
for he carried three goblets, all filled: two small ones on a silver
salver in his right hand, and the large imperial beaker in his left.
With his face turned to the entrance and his back to Saturninus, he had
poured the wine from the small amphora at the table and then added
spring water from the mixing-vessel.

Herculanus hastily started up, snatched one of the goblets from the
salver and emptied it at one draught. His uncle cast a look of
disapproval at him, saying, "Could you not wait for my toast?" Then he
took the Emperor's goblet with the three graces. Davus carried the last
cup to the Illyrian and set the silver salver on the table.

"The first draught," said Ausonius, "is usually to the noble Emperor,
to whom I owe this beautiful gift. But to-day Gratianus may wait;
to-day I drink first to our friendship, my Saturninus!"

"And all that your heart most ardently desires," added the latter
smiling.

Ausonius raised the goblet.

Just at that moment the curtain at the door of the tent was dragged
violently back from the outside: Bissula, her face corpselike in its
pallor, her hair fluttering wildly around her, and blood streaming from
her bare right arm, rushed in, shrieking:

"Poison! Do not drink, Ausonius!" She fell forward headlong on the
Prefect's couch.

Herculanus sprang up with the speed of lightning, to snatch the cup
from his uncle's hand and pour its contents on the ground. But, before
he reached him, the Tribune, who had dropped his own goblet, clutched
him with a grasp of iron. In spite of his violent struggles, Herculanus
could not move forward an inch. Davus, the old freed