“And very just,” added another.
“Oh, never mind,” said Corvinus, “they will always let one off for turning Christian. And, I am sure, I would turn any thing, rather than stand—”
“Where Pancratius stood,” interposed a third, more malicious.
“Hold your tongue,” broke out the drunkard, with a tone of positive rage. “Mention his name again, if you dare!” And he raised his fist, and looked furiously at the speaker.
“Ay, because he told you how you were to die,” shouted the youngster, running away. “Heigh! Heigh! a panther here for Corvinus!”
All ran away before the human beast, now lashed into fury, more than they would have done from the wild one of the desert. He cursed them, and threw stones after them.
The pilgrim, from a short distance, watched the close of the scene, then went on. Corvinus moved slowly along the same road, that which led towards the Lateran basilica, now the Cathedral of Rome. Suddenly a sharp growl was heard, and with it a piercing shriek. As they were passing by the Coliseum, near the dens of the wild beasts, which were prepared for combats among themselves, on occasion of the emperor’s visit, Corvinus, impelled by the morbid curiosity natural to persons who consider themselves victims of some fatality, connected with a particular object, approached the cage in which a splendid panther was kept. He went close to the bars, and provoked the animal, by gestures and words; saying: “Very likely, indeed, that you are to be the death of me! You are very safe in your den.” In that instant, the enraged animal made a spring at him, and through the wide bars of the den, caught his neck and throat in its fangs, and inflicted a frightful lacerated wound.
The wretched man was picked up, and carried to his lodgings, not far off. The stranger followed him, and found them mean, dirty, and uncomfortable in the extreme; with only an old and decrepit slave, apparently as sottish as his master, to attend him. The stranger sent him out to procure a surgeon, who was long in coming; and, in the meantime, did his best to stanch the blood.
While he was so occupied, Corvinus fixed his eyes upon him with a look of one delirious, or demented.
“Do you know me?” asked the pilgrim, soothingly.