“Theory—pure theory.”
They walked on towards the river. There they stood for a few minutes, watching the boats and gondolas, which gently drifted down to the Aelian bridge or struggled up stream under the stout strokes of the oarsmen. Beyond the opposite shore the beautiful hills, strewn with gardens and villas, smiled invitingly down on them, and farther off still rose the five peaks of Soracte.[322]
“They will soon be crowned with snow,” sighed Claudia.
“Yes, it is wearing into autumn,” said Quintus. “But now, my children, you must amuse yourselves without me. Till we meet to-morrow.”
“You fellows,” said Claudia, turning to the Numidians, when Quintus was lost in the crowd. “Do you know what? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, down to the very ground. If it had not been for Quintus, Aurelius would have been under the horse’s hoofs. Cowards! By the gods, but I am minded to have you punished, that you may remember this hour!”
The Africans opened their wide thick mouths, and stared at their mistress as if some marvel had happened. None of her slaves had ever heard such words before from Claudia’s lips.
“That comes of her being betrothed to that rich Furius,” whispered one of them. “I always told you, that the gentlest turn haughty when there is a husband in sight.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
It was dark. In the dining-room of Cneius Afranius a small party had just risen from table. Six guests had shared the modest meal—men differing in age and position, but agreed in feeling, unanimous in their hatred of the imperial reign of terror, and alike in courage and strength of character. During the meal none but commonplace topics were discussed, convinced as Afranius was of the fidelity of his slaves; under Domitian’s rule, suspiciousness had risen to the dignity of a virtue. Even the commissatio—the friendly cup which, in accordance with time-honored custom, closed the meal—lent no impetus to the conversation. Each one was thinking of the discussion, that was now to follow.