‘We are ready to see what you have to show, artisan, and to hear what you have to say,’ said Caesar. ‘Who and what are you?’ ‘I am a potter of Surrentum, and well known to the townsfolk. My name is Masthlion, so please you, Caesar.’ Plautia started in surprise as the name fell on her ears, and she roused with eager attention to what should follow. She found the glance of Afer also resting on her, and he slightly raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Proceed, then, Masthlion the potter,’ said Tiberius. ‘May it please you, Caesar,’ responded Masthlion, ‘although a potter by trade, I have devoted much time to the art of making glass,—as much in the way of inclination as of making profit. Twenty‐five years ago, whilst working under my old master, I chanced to fall upon a piece of glass of very strange quality, amongst a pile of fragments and rubbish of the workshop. It had been fused and formed by some strange accident, and ever since that time I have never ceased in trying to discover the secret of its formation. Within the last two or three days I have, by the favour of the gods, succeeded in my endeavours, and to you, Caesar, first after my own family, I considered it my foremost duty to show it.’ Tiberius nodded. ‘Twenty‐five years! At any rate such wonderful perseverance should command respect,’ remarked Sejanus drily. ‘It was the belief that my labour, if successful, would prove a benefit to the world, that has upheld me under much disappointment and poverty.’ ‘Very disinterested and laudable,’ said Afer, in a tone which brought a laugh to the lips of the Prefect. ‘You would seem to doubt my sincerity, noble sir,’ said the potter, bestowing a keen glance on the knight, and at the same time opening his wallet, ‘and without being selfish, I think that my long labour and sacrifices should meet with a just return, if the fruit of it prove of real service to others.’ ‘Doubtless,’ quoth Afer. ‘Doubtless,’ murmured Caesar, and the knight became silent. ‘This is the specimen I have made to test my words,’ proceeded Masthlion, as he drew out a plain bowl of dull‐coloured glass. He handed it to Zeno, who stood by, and the Greek took it to his master who briefly examined it. With a shrug of his shoulders it was handed back to the steward. A smile rested on the lips of the potter.