‘Nothing, dear friends, but the most sorrowful thoughts could have led me to exhibit such conduct toward you,’ said their host. ‘It has been my greatest ambition—ever my pride and pleasure to see my friends happy around my table.’ ‘Dear Apicius, you have ever succeeded, and not the least this day,’ said Martialis gently. A murmur of approval ran round the couches. ‘You do me honour,’ resumed Apicius; ‘you have been good friends and companions hitherto, and I have done, humbly, my best to return your love. Be patient, I will not detain you long; and especially as you will never again recline round this table at my request. I am grieved to say it,’ continued he, after allowing the expressions of startled surprise to pass, ‘but I am resolved to change my condition, and Rome will know me no more.’ Ill‐concealed joy lighted up the vulgar face of Zoilus, but the visages of Torquatus, Flaccus, and Pansa were blank and thunderstruck at this unlooked‐for announcement. ‘Say not so, Apicius!’ quoth Martialis, turning his prematurely worn, but noble face toward his host, ‘you rend our hearts.’ Apicius, with a fond look, laid his hand gently on the speaker’s shoulder, but did not speak. ‘This is rank treason that cannot pass,’ said Sejanus jestingly. ‘Rome cannot spare thee, noble Apicius—thou shalt not even leave thy house—I shall send a guard of my Pretorians, who shall block thee in.’ A faint smile rested on the lips of Apicius at this conceit. ‘We shall see how that plan will act, Prefect,’ said he. ‘Send thy Pretorians—a whole cohort—only you must be quick.’ Torquatus sat dumb and forgot his jibes; the remainder listened for what was to follow. ‘It is true, my friends, I am about to quit the pleasures, the bustle, the virtues and vices of our beloved city of the hills. I am eager for perfect serenity, far from the struggling crowd, and I go shortly to see it.’ ‘Whither? We will seek you out—I, at least,’ interrupted the voice of Martialis next to him.