"Upon a means which has never yet failed me."
"You will not, surely, mix a love-philtre for him?" asked the Prefect, smiling.
"Certainly I shall. I have done so already."
He looked at her mockingly.
"And are you, then, so superstitious, you, the widow of the great philosopher, Boëthius? Upon my word, in love affairs all women are mad alike!"
"It is neither madness nor superstition," replied Rusticiana quietly. "Our family has possessed this secret charm for more than a hundred years. An Egyptian woman once gave it to one of my female ancestors on the Nile, and it has always proved its power. No woman of my family has ever loved without requital."
"That required no magic," observed the Prefect. "You are a handsome race."
"Spare your sarcasm. The love-philtre is unfailing, and if it has not yet taken effect----"
"So you have really---- What imprudence! How could you, unobserved----"
"Every evening, when he returns from a walk or a row with us, Athalaric takes a cup of spiced Falernian. The physicians ordered it. There are some drops of Arabian balsam in it. The cup always stands ready upon the marble table in front of the temple. Three times I have succeeded in pouring in my potion."