They had now reached the Subura.[194] The height of the five, six, or more-storied houses,[195] and the narrowness of the way here, only allowed the day to dawn slowly and late, and deep gloom still prevailed in the numerous taverns[196] and entries. At the same time busy life was already stirring on all sides; itinerant bakers[197] were wandering from door to door crying their fresh bread. Pedagogues,[198] with their writing implements and clay lamps, were leading files of boys to school. Here and there, from a side alley, might be heard the croaking chant of a teacher, and the babble of spelling children.[199] Groups of worshippers, on their way to perform their morning devotions in the neighboring temple of Isis, hurried across the loudly-echoing pavement. “Day is coming upon us apace,” said Quintus, as he stopped in front of the entrance to the “Cyprius street”[200] and held out his hand to the adjutant. “Our roads part here, and we must make haste if we mean to reach home before sunrise.” “Will you be at the Baths at about noon?” “Possibly.--If I get up in time.” “Well then--let us hope that the wine-cup of Lycoris may leave you free of headache.” “The same to you! Farewell.” And with these words Quintus went on his way, while Clodianus turned off to the right. “Cyprius street” grew at every step more select and consequently more deserted; to the left the Baths of Titus stood up, a sharply-defined mass, against the rose-tinted sky. Each time that Quintus Claudius walked up the street, this vast pile seemed to have a fresh spell for him. The contrast between the ponderous mass, and the tender flush of Autumn dawn behind him, filled him with pleasurable admiration, and his eye followed a flock of pigeons, which for some few minutes soared to and fro above the great building and then, with sudden swiftness, flew across the road. “They came from the left,” said he to one of his companions. “Now, if I believed in augury from the flight of birds, I should be forced to suppose that some evil was hanging over me.” He was still speaking, when from the same side, where a narrow path came down from the great Baths, a muffled figure rushed upon him and hit him a blow with a bare poniard. Happily the ruffian at the same instant slipped on the sloping pavement--which was rendered even more slippery by the early morning dew--so that the dagger missed its aim, and instead of piercing the young man’s throat, passed across his left shoulder and through the folds of his toga, which it cut through as sharply as a razor. And before Quintus quite understood what had happened, the assassin had glided away between the slaves with the suppleness of a panther, and vanished in the direction of the Subura. The young man gazed at his arm, where the toga and under-garment hung in long strips; the wound was but skin-deep, a spot of blood had here and there oozed out.