"No," shouted Massurius, glowing with wine, "cursed be Kallistratos and the Corsican! who offer us strange love-stories, as the stork offered the fox food from narrow-necked flasks. Now, O mine host, let your girls in, if you have ordered any. You need not excite our expectation any further." "Yes, yes! the girls! the dancers! the players!" cried the young guests all together. "Hold!" said the host. "When Aphrodite comes, she must tread upon flowers. This glass I dedicate to thee, Flora!" He sprang up, and dashed a costly crystal cup against the tabled ceiling, so that it broke with a loud ring. As soon as the glass struck the ceiling, the whole of it opened like a trap-door, and a thick rain of flowers of all kinds fell upon the heads of the astonished guests; roses from Pæstum, violets from Thurii, myrtles from Tarentum; covering with scented bunches the tesselated floor, the tables, the cushions, and the heads of the drinkers. "Never," cried Cethegus, "did Venus descend more beautifully upon Paphos!" Kallistratos clapped his hands. To the sound of lyre and flute the centre wall of the room, directly opposite the triclinium, parted; four short-robed female dancers, chosen for their beauty, in Persian costume, that is, dressed in transparent rose-coloured gauze, sprang, clashing their cymbals, from behind a bush of blooming oleander. Behind them came a large carriage in the form of a fan-shaped shell, with golden wheels, pushed by eight young female slaves. Four girls, playing on the flute, and dressed in Lydian garments--purple and white with gold-embroidered mantles--walked before, and upon the seat of the carriage rested, in a half-lying position, and covered with roses, Aphrodite herself; a blooming girl of enchanting, voluptuous beauty, whose almost only garment was an imitation of Aphrodite's girdle of the Graces. "Ha, by Eros and Anteros!" cried Massurius, and sprang down from the triclinium with an unsteady step amidst the group. "Let us draw lots for the girls," said Piso; "I have new dice made from the bones of the gazelle. Let us inaugurate them." "Let our festal King decide," proposed Marcus. "No, freedom! freedom at least in love!" cried Massurius, and roughly caught the goddess by the arm; "and music. Hey there! Music!" "Music!" ordered Kallistratos. But before the cymbal-players could begin, the entrance-doors were hastily thrown open, and pushing the slaves who tried to stop him aside, Scævola rushed in. He was deadly pale. "You here! I really find you here, Cethegus! at this moment!" he cried. "What's the matter?" asked the Prefect, quietly taking the wreath of roses off his head. "What's the matter!" repeated Scævola. "The fatherland trembles between Scylla and Charybdis! The Gothic Dukes, Thulun, Ibba, and Pitza----" "Well?" asked Lucius Licinius. "Are murdered!" "Triumph!" shouted the young Roman, and let loose the dancer whom he held in his arms.