“Very true,” he said coldly. “Aurelius is not much like those oiled and perfumed gallants, who think themselves happy to kiss the dust on your sandals. But that boy is waiting to speak to you.”
Lycoris looked round; a young slave, who had slowly followed her, glanced at her significantly.
“Madam,” he said, “everything is ready.”
“Ah?” said the lady. “The actors are ready? Very good; then let the music begin.”
The slave bowed and vanished. Lycoris imperceptibly guided her companion into a thickly overgrown sidewalk.
“We have time to spare,” she said, “and the music sounds much better from here than up there from the terrace. What were we talking about?... oh! the Batavian.... Why did you not bring your strange specimen to my house sooner?”
“Because he has not long been in Rome.”
“In Rome....” repeated Lycoris vaguely. Her eyes were searching the shrubbery. Then, recollecting herself, she went on talking vivaciously. Thus the couple lost themselves farther and farther in the recesses of the garden; their conversation ceased, and they listened involuntarily to the Dionysiac hymn which reached them in softened tones from the distance. Out here even, in this remote alley, everything was festally illuminated; every leaf, every pebble in the path, shone in many-colored hues. And yet, how deserted, how lonely it was, in spite of the lights! there was something uncanny and ghostly in their doubtful flicker and sparkle. Suddenly Lycoris stood still.
“By the Styx!” she exclaimed. “I have lost my most valuable ring. Not two seconds since I saw it on my finger! Wait, you must have trodden on it; it cannot be twenty paces off and must be lying on the ground.” Before Quintus fairly understood what had happened, she had vanished down a side path. The young man waited. “Lycoris!” he called out presently.
No answer.