"No; the model was a barbarian--some Gothic earl or other--Watichis or Witichas--who can remember these hyperborean names," said Kalistratos, as he peeled a peach.
Cethegus reflectively sipped his wine from the cup of amber.
CHAPTER XI.
"Well, one might put up with the barbarian women," cried Marcus Licinius, "but may Orcus devour their brothers!" and he tore the faded rose-wreath from his head--the flowers could ill bear the close air of the room--and replaced it by a fresh one. "Not only have they deprived us of liberty--they even beat us upon the field of love, with the daughters of Hesperia. Only lately, the beautiful Lavinia shut the door upon my brother, and received the foxy-haired Aligern."
"Barbaric taste!" observed Lucius, shrugging his shoulders, and taking to his Isis-wine, as if to comfort himself. "You know the Goths too, Furius; is it not an error of taste?"
"I do not know your rival," answered the Corsican; "but there are youths enough among the Goths who might well be dangerous to a woman. And an adventure occurs to me, which I lately discovered, but of which, certainly, the point is still wanting."
"That does not matter; tell it to us," said Kallistratos, putting his hands into the luke-warm water, which was now handed round in Corinthian bronze vessels; "perhaps we can find the point."
"The hero of my story," began Furius, "is the handsomest of all the Goths."
"Ah, the young Totila," interrupted Piso, and gave his cameo-decorated cup to be filled with iced wine.
"The same. I have known him for years, and like him exceedingly, as all must who have ever looked into his sunny face; not to speak of the fact"--and here the shadow of some grave remembrance flitted across the Corsican's face, as he hesitated--"that I am under an obligation to him."