'

With a grim smile the centurion then threw himself down upon a settee
near the door, arranged as properly as possible the folds of his coarse
tunic, drew his belt round so as to show more in front his dagger with
richly embossed sheath--the sole article of courtly and ceremonious
attire in which he indulged--and endeavored to assume an easy and
imposing attitude. For an instant he gazed around the room, observantly
taking in its wealth of mosaic pavement, paintings, statuary, and vases.
Then, as he began to fear lest he might be yielding too much of his
pride before the overbearing influence of so much luxury, he
straightened himself up, gathered upon his features a hard and somewhat
contemptuous expression, and roughly exclaimed:

'Yes, by the gods, the Portheni lived with consuls and proconsuls long
before the house of Vanno began to rise from the dregs and become a
house at all. And the imperator knows it, and is jealous of the fact,
too, or else he would the better acknowledge it. What, now, is that?' he
added, pointing to the central fresco of the ceiling.

'It is--I know not for certain, my father--but I think--'

'Nay, but I know what it is. It is the old story of the three Vanni
overcoming the five Cimbri at the bridge of Athesis. No great matter,
nor so very long ago, even if it were true. But why did he not paint up,
instead, how the founder of the Portheni, with his single arm, slew the
ten Carthaginians under the aqueduct of Megara? Is not now your family
history a portion of his own? His jealousy prevented him, I suppose;
though I doubt not that, when in his cups with his high associates, he
often boasts of his connection with the house of Porthenus. And yet he
would let the only relic of the family starve before assisting him.'

AEnone stood as in a maze of confusion and uncertainty. Were the trials
of the day never to end? First her unsatisfactory strife and pleading
with her husband; then the undignified contest with her own slave into
which she had been betrayed; and now came this old man--her father, to
be sure--but so much the more mortifying to her, as his vulgarity,
querulous complaining, and insulting strictures were forced upon her
ears.

'Are you not comfortable? What more can he or I do for you?' she said,
with some impatience.

'Ay, ay; there it is,' growled the centurion. 'One person must have all
luxuries--paintings, silver, and the like; but if the other has only
mere comforts, an