"A trifle, my Clodius, a trifle! They tell me this stripe is the latest fashion at Rome; but Glaucus attends to these things more than I."
"Be propitious, O Bacchus!" said Glaucus, inclining reverentially to a beautiful image of the god placed in the centre of the table, at the corners of which stood the Lares and the saltholders. The guests followed the prayer, and then, sprinkling the wine on the table, they performed the wonted libation.
This over, the convivalists reclined themselves on the couches, and the business of the hour commenced.
"May this cup be my last!" said the young Sallust, as the table, cleared of its first stimulants, was now loaded with the substantial part of the entertainment, and the ministering slave poured forth to him a brimming cyathus—"May this cup be my last, but it is the best wine I have drunk at Pompeii!"
"Bring hither the amphora," said Glaucus; "and read its date and its character."
The slave hastened to inform the party that the scroll fastened to the cork betokened its birth from Chios, and its age a ripe fifty years.
"How deliciously the snow has cooled it!" said Pansa; "it is just enough."
"It is like the experience of a man who has cooled his pleasures sufficiently to give them a double zest," exclaimed Sallust.
"It is like a woman's 'No,'" added Glaucus; "it cools but to inflame the more."
"When is our next wild-beast fight?" said Clodius to Pansa.