"Argus hath a hundred eyes! A butler ought to have a hundred hands!" shouted the Lord of Camerino. "Wine,—slaves! Wine,—fill up in the name of Lucifer!"
"My tongue is peeling!"
"Wine! Wine!"
The Africans filled up the empty tankards.
"Privatio praesupponit habitum!" opined the Prefect of Rome.
"We drink to Life and the fleeting Hour."
"Pereat Mors."
And the goblets clanged.
"Who speaks of Death?" shrieked young Fabio of the Cavalli, attempting to rise. The wine was taking effect on his brain.
Roxana drew him back on the couch beside her.