‘And hearken, Tucca, it is best to reckon up both sides of our bargain,’ added Zeno, catching him by the arm for a moment; ‘I rely upon your faith and have no reason to doubt it, being, as you are, in your right mind; but if you play me false from fear, or hope, or promise of what you would expect to be greater in pay, as sure as you stand by me at this very moment you shall suffer!’ ‘Dear Zeno and friend, I could never——’ ‘I think not, but if you do—in yonder villa of Jove, within the walls there, is more than one catapult—you shall be shot from the cliffs a league into the sea, like a pebble from a sling. Go, and forget not Alexander at the tavern of Paula!’ The husbandman went back to his house, on the flat roof of which Plautia and her maid were standing, taking the keen morning air and viewing the landscape, as Zeno had said. The old man shuffled about in view down below, and presently the voice of Plautia hailed him and desired, or rather commanded, him to go up to her. He did so, and the stoop in his small, withered body was doubled in humility as he remained before her awaiting her pleasure. She looked haughtily down upon him, and the light of day did not improve his appearance. The grease and the dirt‐engrained wrinkles, somewhat softened and mellowed by the lamplight of the night before, were as perceptible as only daylight could make them. The finely‐curved nose of Plautia was elevated at its tip, as much as it was capable of doing, as she surveyed her host in all his glory. She formed the most complete contrast possible. Her noble figure, large and erect, fronting his small, bent, insignificant frame; her dark piercing eyes and her glowing skin, fresh from the early morning toilet, and tinted with a yet richer bloom by the keen sea‐breeze. It seemed to the ancient husbandman as if the glorious Juno herself had descended on to the roof of his dwelling to survey the isle and sea sleeping and silent in the gray light of dawn. ‘I wish to tell you, old man,’ she began abruptly, ‘that you shall be well paid for our lodging here.’ ‘That I feel sure of, gracious lady,’ replied the reverent Tucca. ‘Your house is retired and not overlooked, and for that reason I come here. We wish to be entirely unobserved. It is necessary that our presence here be not known. Therefore you and your wife must refrain from prating a single word thereof. You understand?’ ‘Perfectly, lady, you may rest easy—we shall give neither word nor sign.’ ‘Good! if you do I would not stand in your shoes for all the island is worth. Now show me all that can be seen from where we stand—what is yon house on yon hill?—I have been in Capreae ere this, but I forget.’ She pointed across to the villa of Mercury, crowning the conical hill above the Marina, on the other side of the valley. Tucca told her. ‘And who dwells therein?’ she inquired.