In the centre of the table stood a broad bronze crater, over the edges of which peeped a group of nymphs looking at themselves in the oval lake of wine. Each guest had a slave at his back to serve him, and they dipped wine from the crater to fill the glasses of the guests for the first libation. They were murrhine cups, brought from Asia at a great price, of mysterious fabrication, into which entered the dust of certain shells, and myrrh, hardened and tinted. They were white and opaque, like ivory, holding pieces of colored glass embedded, and their mysterious composition gave a voluptuous fragrance to the wine. Actæon raised himself in his couch to propose the first toast in honor of the chosen divinity. "Drink to Diana, Athenian," spoke the grave voice of Alcon; "drink to the Saguntine goddess!" But in the hand which remained free the Athenian felt another, delicate and beringed, clasping it with a warm caress, so he dedicated his libation to Aphrodite, and the young men greeted it with shouts of enthusiasm. Aphrodite was to be the goddess for that night! While the young men thought of the dancers from Gades, the great attraction of the banquet, Sónnica and Actæon, their elbows resting on the cushions, caressed each other with their eyes, while they leaned shoulder to shoulder, close to the edge of the table. Strong slaves, perspiring from standing over the fires in the kitchens, set upon the table the food for the first course, served in great plates of red Saguntine terra cotta. There were shellfish raw and broiled, all highly spiced. Fresh oysters, mussels, enchinoderms dressed with parsley and mint, asparagus, peppers, lettuce, peacock eggs, tripe seasoned with cumin and vinegar, and fried birds swimming in a sauce of grated cheese, oil, vinegar, and silphium. There was also served _oxygarum_ made in the fisheries of New Carthage--a paste of tunny milt, loaded with salt and vinegar, which excited the palate, stimulating one to drink wine. The aroma from these dishes floated through the festal hall. "Talk not to me about the nest of the phœnix!" said Euphobias with his mouth full. "According to the poets, the phœnix bestrews its nest with incense, bay, and cinnamon, but I swear by the gods that I would rather be in Sónnica's triclinium than in that nest!" "Which does not prevent your dedicating insulting verses to me, you rascal," said the Greek woman, smiling. "Because I am fond of you, and I protest against your follies. By day I am a philosopher; but at night my stomach compels me to come to you, so that your menials may beat me, and that you may give me something to eat."