There appeared to be no one abroad here in the night-time who concerned them or gave them notice.... They came together to the gate, not closed yet for the night. A press of folk of the poorer sort were going and coming. A keeper stopped the two, demanding their business. “I sell flowers,” said the woman, “and an order has gone wrong! I must out to my patron’s to see about it. Why, you know me—Lais the Greek!”
It seemed that that was true. The man struck her upon the shoulder, took a kiss and let her by. He thought that the other woman, who seemed old and bent, was of her company. The two passed to Rome without the walls. The night was powdered with stars. Before them stretched the Appian Way with the great tombs upon it, and backward upon either hand, rich gardens and villas. There was far to go to Cæsar’s house upon this road.
Lais the Greek sobbed again. “What doubt that I too die, and my shop? And what care I now if we do?”
Valeria walked in silence. She looked before her, but truly she was seeing the waste field outside the Sabine Gate.
But it seemed that the other woman had passed one silence and not come to another. “Men—men! Dæmons are their gods and dæmons are themselves!... It is true what the Christians say.... So many years ago, Valerian, but all things find us out!”
“Valerian,” said Valeria. “Lais the flower-seller.... Where are you going, Lais?”
“To Cæsar’s villa. You do not look old any longer. I have seen you before. Who are you?”
“Valeria is my name.... Why are you going to Cæsar?”
“Valeria! Valeria! I might have guessed that! You are going, too, to beg, beg, beg with your face against Cæsar’s feet!—Oh, your daughter, too! Oh, that vestal for whom they dig a chamber under ground—”
“Where is your daughter, the dancer?”