On the second day after the incidents just related dark clouds had risen over the Tyrrhenian sea and spread in long, heavy banks across the sky, which a short while since had been so deeply blue. A stiff south-westerly breeze blew up the stream of the Tiber, and tossed the little boats and flat-bottomed barges, which lay at anchor at the foot of the Aventine,[339] till they jostled and bumped each other. Sudden squalls of rain swept down at short intervals, and obliged the people to throw on their leather cowls or their long-haired woollen cloaks.[340] All the life of the streets took refuge in the arcades and pillared halls; the atria, with their slippery marble pavements, were deserted, and the water from the guttered roofs dripped dolefully into the overflowing impluvia.[341] A strange atmosphere of discomfort and oppression lay over the whole city. Some great races, which were to have been run in the Circus Maximus, were postponed at the last moment. The flow and ebb through the palace gates was less persistent than usual. The Senate even, notwithstanding the importance of the matters awaiting their debate, came in fewer numbers than usual to the sitting. In short, the air was full of that dull uneasiness, which infallibly accompanies the first symptoms of the decay of the year. The storm increased as evening fell. Quintus, who had dined with no other company than two of his clients, stood, as it grew dusk, at the door of the dining-room, looking out at the dreary prospect. The clouds chased each other wildly, and the wind groaned and howled through the colonnade like the wailing of suffering humanity. “Good!” said Quintus, turning back into the room. “And very good! The wilder the night, the better for our undertaking.” He signed to the shrewd slave, Blepyrus, who at this moment passed along the passage with a brazier full of burning charcoal.[342] “Where are you going?” he asked doubtfully; and when the slave answered: “To your study, my lord,” he said: “Very good, I am coming--but take care that we are alone.” Blepyrus went on through the arcade, and when he had reached his master’s private room, he carefully set the brazier on the floor. Two lads, who were standing idle, he promptly dismissed as Quintus came into the room. “Listen, Blepyrus,” he began. “Just fancy for a moment, that to-day is the feast of Saturn.[343] Tell me your honest opinion, frankly and without reserve, just as if you were sitting at table after the old-fashioned custom, while I, your master, waited upon you?” The slave looked up at him in bewilderment. “You do not seem to understand me,” Quintus continued. “I want to hear from you, how far you are satisfied with your master. If I have been unjust, if I have hurt your feelings, or wronged you without cause--speak! I entreat you--nay, I command you.”