For, between the two pompous old senators and this dignified, showy and impressive trio, capered a score of eunuch priests clashing cymbals and among them Commodus also clashing cymbals and amazingly garbed. I have never been able to conjecture how his headgear was managed. He had a band round his forehead and from that band rose a sphere of some light material, apparently a framework of whalebone covered with silk, a sphere fully a yard in diameter, all gleaming with the sheen of silk, and white with an unsurpassable whiteness. His robe, or tunic or whatever it was, was of the same or a similar glossy white silk. Round his neck was a golden collar, and gold anklets of a similar pattern clanked on his ankles. From the links or bosses of the collar to the links or bosses of the anklets streamed silken ribbons of the same intense light yellow we had seen in the robes of the panther-keepers. Two of the eunuch priests fanned him with peacock feather fans, so that the ribbons fluttered and shimmered in the torchlight. He wore soft shoes or slippers of the same vivid yellow. Clashing his cymbals he shrieked and capered with the eunuch priests. I was more than shocked to see the Prince of the Republic so degrade himself, to see him exhibit the acme of the craze for devising unimaginably fantastic costumes for this Festival. Besides being shocked, I was terrified, even numb with terror. I knew that Maternus would never believe me if I indicated this gaping zany and asserted that it was our Emperor: yet Maternus had such an uncanny power of interpreting the expression of face of any interlocutor that I dreaded to tell him anything save the exact truth. I was in a dilemma, equally afraid to tell the truth, for fear the improbability of it would infuriate Maternus and convince him of my treachery; or to take the obvious course, for fear some subtle shade of my tone or look might similarly impel him to stab me. As the convoy passed Maternus whispered, softly and unhurriedly: "Which is he?" In my panic I chose the less dangerous alternative. Pulto was by far the most Imperial figure in the throng; his great height, the fine poise of his head, his royal bearing, his regal expression, his stately port, all contributed to make him dominate the assemblage. I felt that Maternus might believe him Commodus and could never believe Commodus an Emperor or even a noble. I indicated Pulto, haughty, dignified, handsome and magnificently habited. Maternus, apparently, believed me implicitly. He whispered again. "I am sure to get him when they come round again. Watch for my blow. If I land or if I am seized, fend for yourself. Good luck and Mercury be good to both of us. Farewell." As the procession came round again I could hear my heart thump; but, to my gaze, Maternus, handsome in his imitation Praetorian uniform, appeared the personification of calmness.