But she, not disconcerted in the least, said,—“Well! They are all old and ugly. Rubria alone has a human semblance, and so there would be two of us, though Rubria gets freckles in summer.”
“But admit, purest Calvia,” said Petronius, “that thou couldst become a vestal only in dreams.”
“But if Cæsar commanded?”
“I should believe that even the most impossible dreams might come true.”
“But they do come true,” said Vestinius. “I understand those who do not believe in the gods, but how is it possible not to believe in dreams?”
“But predictions?” inquired Nero. “It was predicted once to me, that Rome would cease to exist, and that I should rule the whole Orient.”
“Predictions and dreams are connected,” said Vestinius. “Once a certain proconsul, a great disbeliever, sent a slave to the temple of Mopsus with a sealed letter which he would not let any one open; he did this to try if the god could answer the question contained in the letter. The slave slept a night in the temple to have a prophetic dream; he returned then and said: ‘I saw a youth in my dreams; he was as bright as the sun, and spoke only one word, “Black.”’ The proconsul, when he heard this, grew pale, and turning to his guests, disbelievers like himself, said: ‘Do ye know what was in the letter?’” Here Vestinius stopped, and, raising his goblet with wine, began to drink.
“What was in the letter?” asked Senecio.
“In the letter was the question: ‘What is the color of the bull which I am to sacrifice: white or black?’”
But the interest roused by the narrative was interrupted by Vitelius, who, drunk when he came to the feast, burst forth on a sudden and without cause in senseless laughter.