The air shook with the storm of applause; the Emperor himself approved. But it was especially the fairer portion of the spectators, who seemed beside themselves with delight. Leaina clapped so indefatigably, that it seemed doubtful whether she did it out of sheer pleasure, or rather to display her round, plump arms. Lycoris too, naturally swam with the stream, though less eagerly than her companion. She seemed somewhat languid and indifferent to-day. When the storm of plaudits had somewhat subsided, a handsome youth, dressed as Mercury, appeared on the scene. He had silver sandals with wings; he carried an iron staff, red-hot at one end. It was his duty to touch the body of the fallen gladiator with the hot iron, to make sure that life was extinct. The Suevian, however, seemed still to breathe, though he had lost consciousness. Mercury signed to a servant, who stood in the doorway with a shining axe in his hand, ready to give the ‘_coup de grace_’ to the victim. One mighty stroke--as a butcher might fell an ox--and all was over. Immediately a second ruffian came forward with a harpoon in his hand. He struck it into the bleeding corpse, with brutal force, and the remains of the hapless Marcus were dragged away to the Porta Libitinensis--the gate of the dead. The whole scene was repeated twice more, and in neither case did the people respite the conquered victim. They seemed possessed with a special blood-thirstiness. It was not till the fourth scene, a tilting-match, when a rider, who was a favorite with the women, happened to be unhorsed, that their thumbs were turned up, so that the admired and splendid champion, who had so often proved victorious and the hero of many a gallant adventure, should be respited to achieve future deeds of valor. His antagonist’s lance had pierced his thigh; cries of "_Habet_,"[149] resounded from the upper galleries, and when the women had pronounced in his favor, three slaves came forward and carried him away with the utmost care. These single combats on foot and horseback were only introductory. The fights with wild beasts were now to begin. When the servants had strewn the arena with sand[150] and, so far as possible, hidden the traces of blood, the master of the ceremonies appeared once more, and proclaimed: “The criminal, Calenus, condemned as a Nazarene, will fight with a mountain lion from Gaetulia.” “Calenus, a wretch--one of the brood of traitors,[151] and a contemner of the gods!” said the stranger behind Lycoris. The door opened, and two slaves led forward the tall, solemn figure of the sightless man, with his long snow-white hair. He held in his hands a wooden cross, the symbol of his faith, the only weapon that the tyrant’s ferocity had vouchsafed him. “He was a soldier,” their unknown informant whispered, “and often punished for his insubordination. Let us see how he will behave himself now!”