“The result is that Causidiena has had one of her semi-fainting spells and is in her arm-chair for the day, poor Manlia has one of her splitting headaches and Terentia is almost as bad. I never saw the Atrium in such a state. Campia goes to sleep off and on from exhaustion, but she wakes up howling and keeps blubbering and whining and sniveling. I left both Terentia and Manlia in tears. They are so vexed to think that to-morrow they will be entirely well, but for to-day there is absolutely nothing for it but they must both keep abed and in the dark. “Numisia sent me to tell you that she will be at your wedding, will walk in the procession and will be at the banquet, but that I must be on duty in the Temple. So we’ll just have to have our chat now and when I leave we shall not see each other again for the present.” As she climbed into her carriage she said: “I’m sorry you haven’t a bright wedding day.” “So am I,” said Brinnaria, glancing up at the gray canopy of rainless cloud which hid the sky; “any day is a good day to be married on, but I hoped for sunshine.” Commodus, faithful to the spirit of his promise, came to Vocco’s house with the smallest possible official retinue. He was in the best humor, affable and genial, and cast no chill of formality over the ceremony. He was the first to set his signature to the marriage register, signing in his sprawling school-boy hand. Then he stood aside and looked on while Flexinna, as matron of honor, led Brinnaria to Almo and joined their right hands, while they seated themselves side by side on the traditional cushioned stools, while the Flamen of Jupiter offered on the house-altar the old-fashioned contract-cake, and said the formal prayers for the happiness of the bride and groom; while the Flamen’s assistant, one of Flexinna’s older boys, carried the cake to Almo and Brinnaria and each broke off a piece and ate it, she uttering the old-time formula: “Where you are Caius I am Caia.” Above the voices of the guests Commodus’ could be distinguished shouting with them: “Good luck! Good luck!” In the silence that followed he warned: “Now, no rising, no bowing. I’m not here to spoil this wedding, I came to enjoy it. No bowing, I tell you, no rising. Let me get out like an ordinary man.” Into the gathering dusk he vanished with his retinue. As soon as he was gone the arrangement for the procession began, the slaves lit their torches and grouped themselves outside the house-door, the flute players struck up a tune, Flexinna’s thirteen-year-old boy lit his white-thorn torch at the altar-fire, her eleven-year-old and nine-year-old, as pages of honor, caught Brinnaria by the hands and led her out at the door. So led by the two little boys, their brother with the white-thorn torch walking before her, she passed through the streets to Almo’s house, Nemestronia and Flexinna on either side of Almo, close behind her, Vocco and the other guests following. The people made good the Emperor’s prophecy.