have--ruin--ruin!--Debts pressing me in every quarter, and no hope
but from him. Alfenus the usurer will lend no more--my farms all mortgaged
to the utmost, a hundred thousand sesterces of interest, due these last
Calends, and unpaid as yet. What can I do?--what hope for? In him there is
no help--none! Nay! It is vain to think of it; for he is amorous as ever,
and, could he raise the money, would lavish millions on me for one kiss.
No! _he_ is bankrupt too; and all his promises are but wild empty
boastings. What, then, is left to me?" she cried aloud, in the intensity
of her perturbation. "Most miserable me! My creditors will seize on
all--all--all! and poverty--hard, chilling, bitter poverty, is staring in my
face even now. Ye Gods! ye Gods! And I can not--can not live poor. No more
rich dainties, and rare wines! no downy couches and soft perfumes! No
music to induce voluptuous slumbers! no fairy-fingered slaves to fan the
languid brow into luxurious coolness! No revelry, no mirth, no pleasure!
Pleasure that is so sweet, so enthralling! Pleasure for which I have lived
only, without which I must die! _Die_! By the great Gods! I _will_ die!
What avails life, when all its joys are gone? Or what is death, but one
momentary pang, and then--quiet? Yes! I will die. And the world shall learn
that the soft Epicurean can vie with the cold Stoic in carelessness of
living, and contempt of death--that the warm votaress of Aphrodite can
spend her glowing life-blood as prodigally as the stern follower of
Virtue! Lucretia died, and was counted great and noble, because she cared
not to survive her honour! Fulvia will perish, wiser, as soon as she shall
have outlived her capacity for pleasure!"

She spoke enthusiastically, her bright eyes flashing a strange fire, and
her white bosom panting with the strong and passionate excitement; but in
a moment her mood was changed. A smile, as if at her own vehemence, curled
her lip; her glance lost its quick, sharp wildness. She clapped her hands
together, and called aloud,

"Ho! AEgle! AEgle!"

And at the call a beautiful Greek girl entered the chamber, voluptuous as
her mistress in carriage and demeanor, and all too slightly robed for
modesty, in garments that displayed far more than they concealed of her
rare symmetry.

"Bring wine, my girl," cried Fulvia; "the richest Massic; and, hark thee,
fetch thy lyre. My soul is dark to-night, and craves a joyous note to
kindle it to life and rapture