The speakers were free and careless young Romans. Under no restraint, they spent their lives in pleasure. They were seated at a table opposite each other, in a vine-covered bower which occupied a corner of a summer garden not far from the Via Appia. At the right the garden extended to a Temple of Bacchus. Farther to the right, at the foot of a small hill, was a Grotto of Egeria.[1] Back of the garden was the Sacred Forest,[1] where the old Roman king Numa held interviews with the nymph Egeria. Seated beside Sabinus was a dancing-girl named Merope; beside Sulpicius was another, named Elea. Merope was fair; her face was pretty, with ravishing lips, soft, rosy cheeks, and pure blue eyes like miraculous flowers. Elea was equally beautiful, but her beauty was of a different type. She was dark, with a soft olive complexion, voluptuous lips, and eyes that appeared to have gathered into their depths the light of a summer evening. Their necks and arms were bare except where shoulder-straps held loosely the fronts and backs of their tunicae. They were happy maidens. Their smiles seemed perpetual. Every word they spoke carried with it a ring of pleasure. A boy, with large, black, inquisitive eyes, a handsome young face, short hair, with bare arms and legs, stood before the group, awaiting an order. A thin man, poorly dressed, with musical reeds in his hand, sat on the ground, and reclined against a stone building where wine was stored in large amphorae. “Ho, boy! Our lips are still thirsty. Bring us more wine,” ordered Sabinus, drawing Merope’s hand into his. The boy quickly obeyed, playfully kicking the feet of the poor musician as he went into the stone building. Elea caressed the cheek of Sulpicius with her delicate hand, and, bending gracefully over and looking into his eyes, said, “How happy is life!” “Ay, my Elea, life is happy in the sunny days of youth and plenty. Yonder is a poor son of Pan. Ho, pipe-blower, come hither! Knowest thou a joyful air?” “Expect not sweet music from a sour face, O Sulpicius,” said Sabinus. “Homely flowers give the sweetest honey,” said the reed-player, who had risen and presented himself before the happy group. “Ah, a poet! What dost thou call thyself, O son of Pan?” asked Sulpicius. “I am sometimes called Narcissus.” “Ha, ha! and why, forsooth?” “My words bloom and die like flowers.” “Ay, but that is true of all words.” “Nay, O Sunny Life. Beautiful and fragile are the words of Narcissus.” “And yellow?” “The sun is golden,” he replied, lightly playing upon the word. “Then, thou flowery poet, give us a song. Well shalt thou be paid if thou dost please us.” “Hold, I pray thee, O Sulpicius!” interrupted Sabinus, as he turned to a little flower-girl who just then entered the garden. “Come hither, little maid, and give us thy flowers. How fresh they are!” “They were gathered and watered in the early morn. Not until the sun began to descend were they placed in my basket,” replied the little girl.