“I am only annoyed,” said Aurelius, “that he should have disturbed us at so delicious a moment. Indeed madam, your voice is enchantment; and what a heavenly melody! who is the musician who composed it?” “You make me blush,” said Claudia: “I myself put the words to music, and I am delighted that you should like it. Quintus thought it detestable.” “Nay, nay--” murmured Quintus. “Yes indeed!” said the saucy Lucilia. “It was too soft and womanly for your taste.” “You are misrepresenting me; I only said, that the air did not suit the words. It is a man who is here complaining of the torments of love, while what Claudia sings does not sound like a Thracian winter storm, but like the lamentations of a love-lorn maiden.” “Nonsense!” laughed Lucilia. “Love is love, just as air is air! whether you breathe it or I, it is all the same.” “But with this difference, that rather more of it is needed to fill my lungs than yours. However, for aught I care the song is perfect.” “You are most kind, to be sure! And you may thank the gods that you have nothing to do but to listen to it. I have no doubt, that at the drinking-bouts of some of your boon companions the songs have a more Titanic ring and roar.” “You little hypocrite! Do you want to play the part now of a female Cato? Why, how often have you confessed to me, that you would give your eyes to be one of such a party if only it were permissible!” “Mother,” said Lucilia, “do not allow him to make a laughing stock of me in this heartless way. ‘If only I were a man,’ you mean, not ‘if it were permissible.’” “Very good!” replied Quintus. Caius Aurelius now expressed a wish to hear Claudia sing a Latin song, and she selected one of which the words were by the much-admired poet Statius,[90] who at that time was, with Martial,[91] the reigning favorite in the taste of the highest circles. With this the stranger seemed equally delighted. When Claudia had ended, he himself seized the instrument and plectrum, and with eager enthusiasm in a full, strong voice sang a battle-song. The powerful tones rang through the evening silence like the rush of a mountain torrent. His hearers saw in fancy the swaying struggle--the captain of the legion is in the thick of the fray--“Comrades,” cries one of the combatants, “our chief is in danger! Help! help for our chief!--One last furious onslaught, and the battle is won!” The two girls shrank closer to each other. As the notes slowly died away, a figure appeared high above them in the moonlight, leaning over the parapet of the upper story. “By the gods! my lord!” cried Herodianus, “I am coming!--If only I knew where Magus has hidden my sword! Hold your own, stand steady, and we will beat them yet!” The party burst out laughing. “Go to bed, Herodianus!” shouted his master. “You are talking in your dreams!”