“There is a good deal in that,” observed Longa Duilia. “Plancus, have you secured another? I positively cannot across Adria without one to hold my head and supply anti—anti—what do you call them?”
“Madam,” said the freedman, rubbing his hands together, “I have devoted my energies to your service. I have gone about with a lantern seeking an honest physician. I may not have been as successful as I desired, but I have done my utmost.”
“I prithee—have done with this rodomontade and to the point. Have you secured one? As the Gods love me! it is not only one’s insides that get upset at sea, but one’s outside also becomes so tousled and tumbled—that the repairs—but never mind about them. Have you engaged a man?”
“Yes, my Lady, I have lighted on one Luke, a physician of Troas; he is desirous of proceeding to Rome, and is willing to undertake the charge of your health, in return for being conveyed to the capital of the world at your charges.”
“I make you responsible for his suitability,” said Longa Duilia.
“Body of Bacchus!” she exclaimed suddenly, after a pause, “Where is the child?”
“Where is the lady Domitia Longina?” asked Plancus, as he looked about him.
“The lady Domitia, where is she?” asked Lucilla.
“The lady Domitia?”—passed from one to another.
“Where is she? What has become of her? As the Gods love me—you are a pack of fools. The more of you there are, so much the more of folly. You have let her gallop off among the odious sailors, and she will come back rank with pitch. Lucilla, Favonia, Syra, where is she?”