They halted at last under the cypress growing near the entrance of the house. Lygia leaned against his breast, and Vinicius began to entreat again with a trembling voice,—“Tell Ursus to go to the house of Aulus for thy furniture and playthings of childhood.”
But she, blushing like a rose or like the dawn, answered,—“Custom commands otherwise.”
“I know that. The pronuba [The matron who accompanies the bride and explains to her the duties of a wife] usually brings them behind the bride, but do this for me. I will take them to my villa in Antium, and they will remind me of thee.”
Here he placed his hands together and repeated, like a child who is begging for something,—“It will be some days before Pomponia returns; so do this, diva, do this, carissima.”
“But Pomponia will do as she likes,” answered Lygia, blushing still more deeply at mention of the pronuba.
And again they were silent, for love had begun to stop the breath in their breasts. Lygia stood with shoulders leaning against the cypress, her face whitening in the shadow, like a flower, her eyes drooping, her bosom heaving with more and more life. Vinicius changed in the face, and grew pale. In the silence of the afternoon they only heard the beating of their hearts, and in their mutual ecstasy that cypress, the myrtle bushes, and the ivy of the summer-house became for them a paradise of love. But Miriam appeared in the door, and invited them to the afternoon meal. They sat down then with the Apostles, who gazed at them with pleasure, as on the young generation which after their death would preserve and sow still further the seed of the new faith. Peter broke and blessed bread. There was calm on all faces, and a certain immense happiness seemed to overflow the whole house.
“See,” said Paul at last, turning to Vinicius, “are we enemies of life and happiness?”
“I know how that is,” answered Vinicius, “for never have I been so happy as among you.”