'Well, well,' said the latter, relenting, 'you may enter if you will; but, to tell you the truth, Sallust is drinking himself out of his grief. It is his way when anything disturbs him. He orders a capital supper, the best wine, and does not give over till everything is out of his head--but the liquor.' 'An excellent plan--excellent! Ah, what it is to be rich! If I were Sallust, I would have some grief or another every day. But just say a kind word for me with the atriensis--I see him coming.' Sallust was too sad to receive company; he was too sad, also, to drink alone; so, as was his wont, he admitted his favorite freedman to his entertainment, and a stranger banquet never was held. For ever and anon, the kind-hearted epicure sighed, whimpered, wept outright, and then turned with double zest to some new dish or his refilled goblet. 'My good fellow,' said he to his companion, it was a most awful judgment--heigho!--it is not bad that kid, eh? Poor, dear Glaucus!--what a jaw the lion has too! Ah, ah, ah!' And Sallust sobbed loudly--the fit was stopped by a counteraction of hiccups. 'Take a cup of wine,' said the freedman. 'A thought too cold: but then how cold Glaucus must be! Shut up the house to-morrow--not a slave shall stir forth--none of my people shall honour that cursed arena--No, no!' 'Taste the Falernian--your grief distracts you. By the gods it does--a piece of that cheesecake.' It was at this auspicious moment that Sosia was admitted to the presence of the disconsolate carouser. 'Ho--what art thou?' 'Merely a messenger to Sallust. I give him this billet from a young female. There is no answer that I know of. May I withdraw?' Thus said the discreet Sosia, keeping his face muffled in his cloak, and speaking with a feigned voice, so that he might not hereafter be recognized. 'By the gods--a pimp! Unfeeling wretch!--do you not see my sorrows? Go! and the curses of Pandarus with you!' Sosia lost not a moment in retiring. 'Will you read the letter, Sallust?' said the freedman. 'Letter!--which letter?' said the epicure, reeling, for he began to see double. 'A curse on these wenches, say I! Am I a man to think of--(hiccup)--pleasure, when--when--my friend is going to be eat up?' 'Eat another tartlet.' 'No, no! My grief chokes me!' 'Take him to bed,' said the freedman; and, Sallust's head now declining fairly on his breast, they bore him off to his cubiculum, still muttering lamentations for Glaucus, and imprecations on the unfeeling overtures of ladies of pleasure.