‘That is my father’s cup,’ continued Apicius; ‘Martialis, thou wilt preserve it—it is too rich for my future needs of simplicity. I will drink to the future welfare of you all. May the gods send you plentiful pastures of liberal purses and groaning tables; and may ye die the death of noble, virtuous, uncovetous men. Listen, dear friends,’ he said, with a bitterly scornful emphasis of the adjective, ‘I have lived to the age of forty years. With your help and the help of others I have spent of my patrimony sixty‐four thousand sestertia.’(2) A movement of sensation passed round the couches at this calm statement of such enormous extravagance. ‘In the process I have discovered how rarely the immortals make true friends, and how idle it is to try and gain them with the glitter of gold alone. I have met with but one in my career who has followed me for love—Caius, true friend, may the gods repay you, for Apicius cannot.’ He raised the goblet in his hand; it was partly filled with wine. Looking round the company, while he poised the flashing cup, he said: ‘Vultures, I have done. I have had my pleasure—I have spent my patrimony—what is left I give to thee, Caius—that casket will vouch for it. I want it not; it is not worth living on for. _Vale!_’ He emptied the cup at a draught, threw it from him on to the table, and then proceeded to sink back to his former position on the cushions. Ere he reached them, the smile on his lip became suddenly contorted into a horrible grimace. The pallor of his face changed to a ghastly lividness. His body and limbs gave a spasmodic twist of agony, and he fell back a breathless corpse. The room was filled with consternation and confusion. Martialis, with a horrible suspicion, sprang up and encircled his friend. Slaves sped away for a physician, and the remainder, together with the guests, gathered round the dead Apicius with startled looks. ‘Come!’ said Sejanus to Afer in a low voice, ‘we can do nothing here but waste time. Apicius has given the signal to depart. His only true friend will attend to him—the slaves will probably see to the house—and themselves.’ ‘The fool,’ muttered Afer, following the imperial minister out of the room, ‘he has lost his fortune and dies—I go to get one and live.’ The company fast melted away. Charinus, with haughty, measured step, and sublimity of indifference on his unruffled face. Pansa, stupefied with wine and fright, leaning on the necks of his slaves, who, indeed, nearly carried him. Torquatus, with a keen eye for any movables and an opportunity. So they departed to blow this strange business over the city. A group of frightened domestics remained huddled in one corner of the room. Martialis waved them away, and he was left, amid the gold and glitter of the chamber of death, bending and sobbing alone, over the dead body of his friend. CHAPTER IV.