‘Alas, no, by your leave, gracious Plautia, neither mandate nor mockery!’ cried the Greek, who seemed struck with horror at the idea. ‘I should deserve to die like a dog if my clumsy tongue had caused you to harbour such a thing in your mind. I should be flung from the cliffs had I dared. Ah no, therefore, I beseech you in mercy to your servant, dismiss those fatal words. Deference and homage are the natural prerogatives of Plautia; and is it possible, that a nameless slave could make a mockery of what will flow sincerely from Caesar himself? No, it cannot be!’ ‘Psaw!’ uttered Plautia, impatiently turning from the histrionic abjuration of the steward. ‘Whom have you with you?’ She swept to the door, and, unlatching it, looked out upon the dismal landscape. A raw, cold wind dashed in her face; the trees tossed and waved, and the foam‐streaked sea and sky seemed to mingle in a cheerless, dismal hue of gray. Under the lee of the cottage was a covered litter set down, whilst a dozen or more slaves were huddled close by, making the most of their rough woollen cloaks and the shelter of the friendly wall. The half‐closed eyes of the Greek followed her, and his lips curved in silent laughter. As she stepped back he sprang to close the door for her. ‘A few slaves only,’ he said apologetically. ‘I expected to see a gang of Pretorians with swords and chains,’ she replied, with as much sarcasm as her hauteur would admit. Zeno suffered his humility to make bold with a smile, which disclosed his white teeth. ‘Ah no!’ he softly said, ignoring the biting allusion to swords and chains; ‘I and my slaves had the better fortune. Centurion Martialis and his Pretorians would have been as rejoiced as I am to have had the honour of escorting you, but they have privileges enough, without robbing your humble slave of a grateful task; they are even now hard at work with their exercises, as is their custom, within the walls of the villa Jovis.’ ‘It is enough that I am to go with you, most worthy steward,’ returned she coldly. ‘You have more than sufficient force with you to compel me, as well as to guard me, if need be.’ Her mention of the Pretorians suggested to the Greek the artful introduction of the name of Martialis, and he raised his eyes to her face with an unconcerned glance to try and discover some effect of his words. But he was totally disappointed, and she retired at once into her own apartment. During the colloquy the ancient Tucca had contrived to allow the fire to retain his attention, blowing a few puffs now and then to excite the sluggish flames, and piling here and there an ember, being to all appearances absorbed in the task. As the door closed upon the Roman beauty he turned up his shrivelled, leathery countenance toward the Greek with a leer, which seemed to extinguish his eyes in the dirt‐engrained wrinkles of his face.