Lycoris, the fair Gaul, was giving a splendid entertainment. Valerius Martialis, the greatest wit of the city of the Seven Hills, had recited his newest and most poignant epigrams with loud applause, and the company--more than a hundred persons--were reclining at supper on cushioned divans in the lavishly-decorated eating-room. The young Massilian lady presided. With her neck and shoulders half-veiled in transparent gauze[153] from Cos, her magnificent golden-yellow hair knotted up at the back of her head and wreathed simply with ivy, she smiled radiantly from the head of the table, the object of silent worship to many, and of eager admiration to all. A number of slaves, in handsome Alexandrian dresses, moved quickly and silently about the handsome hall, while across the supper table the conversation each instant grew more lively. Among the guests was Caius Aurelius, the young Batavian. He had yielded to the pressure of curiosity or of fashion--particularly when the name of the famous epigrammatist had weighed down the scale. “Really,” he was saying to his neighbor Norbanus--the commandant of the Praetorian guard--“really, Norbanus, till this hour I had esteemed myself rich, but here I feel by comparison a beggar. What splendor, what lavish outlay! Pillars of alabaster, enormous gold plates,[154] carpets worth an estate--my senses reel. Everything which elsewhere would appear rare and choice is here in every day use. By Hermes! but the father of Lycoris must have been a favorite of fortune.” “Not so loud!” interrupted Lucius Norbanus. “See, Stephanus is looking this way with a meaning glance.” “Stephanus![155] The Empress’s steward? What has he to do with Lycoris?” “Ha! well, I will tell you that another time,” said the officer filling his mouth with a fine oyster,[156] “between ourselves, you know. Meanwhile, I strongly advise you to taste those delicious mollusks. If you are like me, laughing has made you ferociously hungry.” “You certainly laughed most heartily,” replied Aurelius accepting some of the praised dish from a slave; “but I, for my part, cannot get up any taste for this kind of verse. Martial is full of wit and humor, but this perpetual mockery, this making a business of holding up all society to ridicule and contempt--no, my dear Norbanus, I cannot like it. More particularly does the way in which he speaks of women displease and vex me. If he is to be believed, there is not in all Rome one faithful wife, or one innocent girl.”[157] “Pah!” said Norbanus, with his mouth well filled: “There are some of course, but they are scarce, my dear Aurelius, remarkably scarce.” “What is amusing you so much, Norbanus?” asked Quintus from his place opposite. “The old theme--women! Aurelius thinks, that our laurel-wreathed poet has sinned basely against the ladies of Rome, by hinting in his epigrams his doubts of their virtue.”