The appearance of Masthlion in the character of an inventor struck Plautia as a very extraordinary coincidence, and added fresh fuel to her excited thoughts. She lay sleepless for hours, turning restlessly from side to side with the sharply graven image of the potter rooted in her brain. The mystery of the man’s daughter tormented her. A mental portrait of her she had formed long ago, but now a fierce desire to see with her own eyes took possession of her. She must visit Surrentum—she would request it of Caesar—nay, she would demand it. The old man was infatuated and would grant her any wish—any whim. A thought struck her, and she started up with the blood tingling through her veins. Would not this man’s lovely daughter be a more acceptable and interesting object in the villa than his glassware! Fool she was not to think of it before! To find the cherished flower—the paragon of loveliness within the fatal walls of the villa when he returned! Ha, then would Martialis have his due. She sank back with a sinister laugh. When the morning came she despatched a messenger to Priscus, a knight and personal friend and follower of Tiberius. He had been of the party at the supper‐table the previous evening. In half an hour he entered the apartment, newly‐shaven, curled, fresh and wreathed in smiles. She had chosen her man well, for in all matters domestic he was Caesar’s confidant. With political matters he meddled not, repelled alike by inclination and prudence. But in the daily minutiæ of the personal and private occupations of his Imperial friend and ruler he was indispensable, inestimable as thinker, provider, arranger—a true lion’s jackal. He was barely middle‐aged, with regular, comely features, which a puffy face and pasty complexion marred considerably. His figure exhibited the same overload of fat, and, altogether, he presented the idea of a man, whose habits of life might more wisely have lain in the way of increased bodily exercise and Spartan fare. He used his hands very freely to accentuate his speech, but, more probably, because they were very small, plump, white, and soft. ‘Plautia’s message reached me in the midst of important business, but at the very moment of relief I came,’ he said, with a charming smile and wave of his white hand. ‘It is more than I deserved, so trifling are my requirements,’ replied Plautia. ‘I left the table last night somewhat early, and I am anxious to know whether I missed anything in the affair of that wonderful potter and his glass. See how interested I am, when I presume so far as to bring you hither at the sacrifice of your own affairs to enlighten me.’