The knight, as he spoke, took his place on the couch opposite Martialis. The sinister glance of his eyes met the gaze of the latter, and declared inevitable war. The slaves hastened to serve him, and, whilst he proceeded to eat, Fabricius related the circumstances of his night’s adventure, not forgetting, most particularly, to allude to the services of his deliverer, who, straightway, began to wish that all recollection of the affair might be buried in the sea. ‘It is very well, good uncle, you got out of the trap as you did,’ observed Afer at the conclusion; ‘this, I trust, is the last phase of your credulity and infatuation—this, I humbly think, will act as a salutary corrective, and effect what no reason or words of mine could do. As for the Centurion, had he been a school‐lad appearing on the scene, he would have been sufficient, at that critical point, to have startled and routed the ruffians from their task, like so many rabbits. I trust, Centurion, you received no hurt in your encounter with the vagabonds, when, like a Patroclus, you bestrode the prostrate body of my uncle?’ ‘I neither bestrode my host, nor drew a sword, nor even clenched my fist,’ answered Martialis calmly, though inwardly fuming with anger. ‘I did nothing whereby I can claim the credit or praise which my host persists in awarding to me against my will.’ ‘Nor even with your troopers to lay hands on one or more of the vagabonds?’ ‘Nor even with my troopers lay hands on a single one of them.’ ‘I crave pardon, Centurion, for the thoughtless question,’ said Afer mockingly; ‘I ought to have known better than to suppose that Imperial Pretorians would stoop to act as common city police.’ ‘You labour under a wrong impression of the cohorts to which I have the honour to belong,’ returned Martialis, with less command over the tone of his voice. ‘If I know anything about them, I should say they are as ready as any to frustrate rascality and bring it to account, whenever it lies in their power.’ ‘Hark ye! nephew,’ interposed Fabricius sternly, ‘whether you rose this morning in an ill‐humour or not, I cannot tell, but I must have no snapping tongue to break good‐fellowship here—let us finish our meal as it was begun, in peace and pleasantness, I pray. There is little I would not part with, rather than Martialis should associate anything disagreeable with his first visit here. He has done me a service, which it may please him to disparage and you to decry—enough! My old playmate has suddenly and unexpectedly returned in the person of his son; for that, if for nothing else, I seek his good opinion of all about me.’