Domitia looked round and saw a small marble table on which stood a statuette of a shepherd with panpipes, and a lamb across his shoulders. Violets in a basin stood before the figure.
“Ah! Hermes,” said Domitia, and plucking a little bunch of the purple flowers from her bosom she laid it in the bowl with the rest.
“Nay, dear Lady, not Hermes,” said Glyceria, “though indeed it was sculptured to represent him—but to me that figure has another meaning. And I hold your offering of the violets as made to Him who to me is the Good Shepherd.”[4]
“Whom mean you? Atys?”
“Not Atys.”
Domitia was not particularly interested in the matter. She presumed that some foreign cult was followed by Glyceria, and foreign cults at this time swarmed in Rome.
“Do you believe me, Glyceria,” said Domitia, “as I came hither, the Cæsar Domitian accompanied me, and said that I must be a Christian to care for the sick and suffering. What are these Christians?”
“I am one,” answered the paralyzed woman.
“What! and Paris?”
“Nay, he hovers between two opinions. His business holds him and he will not give that up, he thinks that, were he to do so, he and I might starve. But with the mind I think he is one.”