was safe outside it all, and then he planted himself up above at the entrance of the avenue of elms, sword in hand. Eight men rushed upon him at once, but for fully five minutes not one could get at him. Three of the assailants bit the dust, before a well-aimed thrust pierced the Hercules through the breast. He started, once more gathered himself together, and a fourth man fell in front of him, cleft through the skull. That was the last of it.” “A noble ending truly to a friendly festival!” said Quintus glancing at Lycoris, who still was fuming over the disaster. “And the rash defender is dead?” “Not yet,” said Clodianus joining them. “Stephanus is questioning him. But as the fellow refuses to give any information, they propose to torture him to make him speak.” “Impossible!” cried Quintus furious. “His wound is mortal, he fought like a hero. At any rate leave him to die in peace!” Clodianus shrugged his shoulders. “Settle that with Stephanus! If the villain will not confess, it is certainly permissible to egg on his loquacity.” Quintus frowned. After a few minutes of reflection he went up to Stephanus, at the very instant when two slaves came on to the terrace with a steaming cauldron of water. “A very painful incident!” said Claudius coolly. “Most painful!” replied Stephanus in the same tone. “I mean to try, whether the error may not be remedied.” And as he spoke he gave a highly-significant nod to the slaves, who had set the cauldron down on the ground close to him. Quintus involuntarily stepped forward and put out his hand in remonstrance. “I hope, my good friend,” he said, still perfectly coolly, “that you only intended to frighten this villain--good taste alone must prohibit....” Stephanus changed color slightly, and the slaves looked terrified into his face. The tension of the situation was interrupted by the return of the armed men, who had been sent after the fugitives and now came back breathless and streaming with sweat. “My lord,” the foremost began, “we return as jaded as a pack of hounds, but with empty hands.” “So I see,” said Stephanus in chill tones. “And what tavern did you stop at, and what wenches did you stop to kiss.” “Forgive us, my lord!” groaned another sinking on to his knees, partly from exhaustion, and partly from terror. “We rushed up the hill like blood-hounds,[185] but they had too much the start of us.” Stephanus looked down. “Was the gate on to the Patrician Way[186] locked?” he asked frowning. “Fast locked.” “It is well. I will speak to your mistress. Woe to you, if you are in fault!” “My lord,” the first speaker began again. “Grant me to say one word of explanation. In spite of the start the fugitives had gained, we might have caught them if an accident....” He broke off and glanced at Quintus, who smiled and told him to go on. “Speak fearlessly,” he said kindly. “Accuse me, if you think well to do so--in fact, you have every right.”