'They are worthy of a mitre,' replied Julia, in disdain. 'Oh! have you seen the new house of Fulvius, the dear poet?' said Pansa's wife. 'No: is it handsome?' 'Very!--such good taste. But they say, my dear, that he has such improper pictures! He won't show them to the women: how ill-bred!' 'Those poets are always odd,' said the widow. 'But he is an interesting man; what pretty verses he writes! We improve very much in poetry: it is impossible to read the old stuff now.' 'I declare I am of your opinion, returned the lady of the helmet. 'There is so much more force and energy in the modern school.' The warrior sauntered up to the ladies. 'It reconciles me to peace,' said he, 'when I see such faces.' 'Oh! you heroes are ever flatterers,' returned Fulvia, hastening to appropriate the compliment specially to herself. 'By this chain, which I received from the emperor's own hand,' replied the warrior, playing with a short chain which hung round the neck like a collar, instead of descending to the breast, according to the fashion of the peaceful--'By this chain, you wrong me! I am a blunt man--a soldier should be so.' 'How do you find the ladies of Pompeii generally?' said Julia. 'By Venus, most beautiful! They favor me a little, it is true, and that inclines my eyes to double their charms.' 'We love a warrior,' said the wife of Pansa. 'I see it: by Hercules! it is even disagreeable to be too celebrated in these cities. At Herculaneum they climb the roof of my atrium to catch a glimpse of me through the compluvium; the admiration of one's citizens is pleasant at first, but burthensome afterwards.' 'True, true, O Vespius!' cried the poet, joining the group: 'I find it so myself.' 'You!' said the stately warrior, scanning the small form of the poet with ineffable disdain. 'In what legion have you served?' 'You may see my spoils, my exuviae, in the forum itself,' returned the poet, with a significant glance at the women. 'I have been among the tent-companions, the contubernales, of the great Mantuan himself.' 'I know no general from Mantua, said the warrior, gravely. 'What campaign have you served?' 'That of Helicon.' 'I never heard of it.' 'Nay, Vespius, he does but joke,' said Julia, laughing. 'Joke! By Mars, am I a man to be joked!' 'Yes; Mars himself was in love with the mother of jokes,' said the poet, a little alarmed. 'Know, then, O Vespius! that I am the poet Fulvius. It is I who make warriors immortal!' 'The gods forbid!' whispered Sallust to Julia. 'If Vespius were made immortal, what a specimen of tiresome braggadocio would be transmitted to posterity!' The soldier looked puzzled; when, to the infinite relief of himself and his companions, the signal for the feast was given. As we have already witnessed at the house of Glaucus the ordinary routine of a Pompeian entertainment, the reader is spared any second detail of the courses, and the manner in which they were introduced.