Upon the passage of the procession, the factionists take their seats and resume conversation.
“Ah, by Bacchus! was he not handsome?” exclaims a woman, whose Romanism is betrayed by the colors flying in her hair.
“And how splendid his chariot!” replies a neighbor, of the same proclivities. “It is all ivory and gold. Jupiter grant he wins!”
The notes on the bench behind them were entirely different.
“A hundred shekels on the Jew!”
The voice is high and shrill.
“Nay, be thou not rash,” whispers a moderating friend to the speaker. “The children of Jacob are not much given to Gentile sports, which are too often accursed in the sight of the Lord.”
“True, but saw you ever one more cool and assured? And what an arm he has!”
“And what horses!” says a third.
“And for that,” a fourth one adds, “they say he has all the tricks of the Romans.”