housand of those soothing words with which we calm the grief of a
child--and so beautiful did he seem in his gentle and consoling task,
that even the fierce heart of Stratonice was touched. His presence
seemed to shed light over that base and obscene haunt--young, beautiful,
glorious, he was the emblem of all that earth made most happy,
comforting one that earth had abandoned!

'Well, who could have thought our blind Nydia had been so honored!' said
the virago, wiping her heated brow.

Glaucus looked up at Burbo.

'My good man,' said he, 'this is your slave; she sings well, she is
accustomed to the care of flowers--I wish to make a present of such a
slave to a lady. Will you sell her to me?' As he spoke he felt the
whole frame of the poor girl tremble with delight; she started up, she
put her disheveled hair from her eyes, she looked around, as if, alas,
she had the power to see!

'Sell our Nydia! no, indeed,' said Stratonice, gruffly.

Nydia sank back with a long sigh, and again clasped the robe of her
protector.

'Nonsense!' said Clodius, imperiously: 'you must oblige me. What, man!
what, old dame! offend me, and your trade is ruined. Is not Burbo my
kinsman Pansa's client? Am I not the oracle of the amphitheatre and its
heroes? If I say the word, break up your wine-jars--you sell no more.
Glaucus, the slave is yours.'

Burbo scratched his huge head, in evident embarrassment.

'The girl is worth her weight in gold to me.'

'Name your price, I am rich,' said Glaucus.

The ancient Italians were like the modern, there was nothing they would
not sell, much less a poor blind girl.

'I paid six sestertia for her, she is worth twelve now,' muttered
Stratonice.

'You shall have twenty; come to the magistrates at once, and then to my
house for your money.'

'I would not have sold the dear girl for a hundred but to oblige noble
Clodius,' said Burbo, whiningly. 'And you will speak to Pansa about the
place of designator at the amphitheatre, noble Clodius? it would just
suit me.'

'Thou shalt have it,' said Clodius; adding in a whisper to Burbo, 'Yon
Greek can make your fortune; money runs through him like a sieve: mark
to-day with white chalk, my Priam.'

'An dabis?' said Glaucus, in the formal question of sale and barter.

'Dabitur,' answered Burbo.

'Then, then, I am to go with you--with you? O happiness!' murmured
Nydia.

'Pretty one, yes; and thy hardest task henceforth shall be to sing thy
Gre