“Get away you sprats and gudgeons,” said he, good-humoredly.
Then entering, he said to Domitia:
“Lady, your mother has reached home in safety. I chanced to run across Amphibolus, sent out in quest of you, and the good-for-naught had turned sulky, because it is the Saturnalia, when, said he, the mistress should do the slave’s bidding. ‘That can be,’ said he, ‘but at one time in the year, and should not be forgotten.’ And the lanes are clear of rabble. If Paris here will walk on one side of you and I on the other, it will be well. That rascal Amphibolus I bade wait, but not he, said he, ‘Io Saturne!’ ”
“I will attend with joy,” announced the actor.
Domitia rose to leave, she tendered thanks to Glyceria and took two steps towards the entrance, halted, turned back, and taking the thin hand of the sick woman in hers, somewhat shyly said:
“I may come again and see you?”
Before Glyceria could reply, so great was her surprise, Domitia was gone.
The streets were nearly empty, they were mere lanes between huge blocks of windowless buildings, towering into the sky, but from the forum could be heard a hubbub of voices, cries, the clash of arms, and anon a cheer.
Presently—“Stand aside!” said Paris, and there swept down the lane a number of young fellows masked and tricked out in ribbons and scraps of tawdry finery.
“I am the king!” shouted one, “Præfect of the guard, arrest those people. Ha! a woman. She shall be my captive and grace my triumph.”