Meg. My Lord Lysimachus, I hope so. I have not closed an eye for the last two nights. As to the Procession, I flatter myself that no better-arranged pomp has ever defiled before Cæsar's Palace. It will be long, it will be splendid, it will be properly marshalled. There is no other man in the Empire who knows the distinctions of rank or the mysteries of marshalling better than I do. Look at the books I have studied. There is the treatise of the Learned and Respectable Symmachus on Processions. That is one. There is the late divine Emperor Theodosius on Dignities and Titles of Honour. That is two. There is our learned and illustrious Chamberlain Procopius's treatise on the office and duties of a Count of the Palace. That, as no doubt you know, is in six large volumes. That is three, or, nay, eight volumes. Oh, my poor head! And I have said nothing of the authorities on Costume—a library, I assure you, in themselves. Yes, it has been an anxious time, but a very happy one. I wish our young friends here would devote a little more time to such serious topics, and less to such frivolities as fighting and making love. The latter is a fine art, no doubt, and, when done according to rule, is well enough; but as for fighting, getting oneself grimed with dust and sweat, and very likely some vulgar churl's common blood to boot—pah! it is intolerable to think of it.
1st Court. Well, good Megacles, I am afraid that the world cannot spare its soldiers yet for many years to come. So long as there is evil in the world, and lust of power and savagery and barbarism, so long, depend upon it, there is room and need for the soldier.
Meg. Certainly, my lord, certainly; and besides, they are very highly decorative too. Nothing looks better to my mind at a banquet than bright gay faces and lithe young figures set in a shining framework of mail. By the way, my Lord Lysimachus, it was kind of you to provide our procession with a strong detachment of fine young soldiers from Bosphorus. I have secured a prominent place for them, and the effect will be perfect. I trust the Lady Melissa will like it.
Lys. My lord, you are mistaken; there are no soldiers from Bosphorus here.
Meg. But I was with the Prince last night, and saw them.
Lys. I tell you you are mistaken. There are none here. Do you understand me? There are none here.
2nd Court. Nay, indeed, my Lord Megacles. We were trying, with a view to the pageant, how a number of young men of Cherson would look in the array of Bosphorus; but we gave it up, since we feared that they would bear them so clumsily that they would mar the whole effect.
Meg. Ah, that explains it; quite right, quite right. Well, I see I was mistaken. But I wish I could have had soldiers from Bosphorus. They are the one thing wanting to make to-morrow a perfect success, as the Lady Melissa said.
Lys. They are indeed, as you say. But, my Lord Megacles, pray do not whisper abroad what you have said here; these people are so jealous. They would grow sullen, and spoil the pageant altogether.
Meg. Ah, my lord, you have a good head. I will not breathe a word of it till the day is done.