"I happen, on my side, to know for a fact," answered the hostess, "that the one circumstance to which you refer has been the great remorse of the triumvir's life. The old man still mumbles and maunders, complaining that he never received a reply to that letter. He would die happy if he could but see you, and learn that all had been forgiven."
Before Aglais had time to make any answer, the landlord appeared, carrying a small cadus, or cask, marked in large black letters—
L. CARNIFICIO
S. POMPEIO
COS.
Benigna had previously set upon a separate mensa, or table, according to custom, fruits, and fictile or earthen cups.
"I thought so!" cried good Crispus. "Women (excuse me, lady, I mean my wife and daughter) will jabber and cackle even when ladies may be tired, and, as I sincerely hope, hungry. Do, Crispina, let me see the ladies and this young knight enjoy their little supper. This Alban wine, my lady, is nearly fifty years old, I do assure you; look at the consul's name on the cask. Benigna, young as she is, might drink ten cyathi of it without hurt. By the by, I have forgotten the measure. Run, Benigna, and fetch a cyathus (a ladle-cup) to help out the wine."
"Jabber and cackle!" said the hostess. "Crispus, this lady is the widow, and these are the son and daughter of Paulus Æmilius Lepidus."
The landlord, in the full career of his own jabber, was stricken mute for a moment. He gazed at each of our three travellers in turn, looking very fixedly at Paulus. At last he said,
"This, then, accounts for the wonderful likeness. My lady, I will never take one brass coin from you or yours; not an as, so help me! You must command in this house. Do not think otherwise."
And, apparently to prevent Aglais from answering him, he drew his wife hastily out of the room, and closed the door.