"Who ought, however, to be crucified for their blasphemy," said Pansa, with vehemence; "they deny Venus and Jove! Nazarene is but another name for atheist. Let me catch them, that's all!"
The second course was gone—the feasters fell back on their couches—there was a pause while they listened to the soft voices of the South, and the music of the Arcadian reed. Glaucus was the most rapt and the least inclined to break the silence, but Clodius began already to think that they wasted time.
"Bene vobis (your health,) my Glaucus," said he, quaffing a cup to each letter of the Greek's name, with the ease of the practised drinker. "Will you not be avenged on your ill-fortune of yesterday? See, the dice court us."
"As you will!" said Glaucus.
"The dice in August, and I an ædile," said Pansa, magisterially; "it is against all law."
"Not in your presence, grave Pansa," returned Clodius, rattling the dice in a long box; "your presence restrains all license; it is not the thing, but the excess of the thing, that hurts."
"What wisdom!" murmured the umbra.
"Well, I will look another way," said the ædile.
"Not yet, good Pansa; let us wait till we have supped," said Glaucus.
Clodius reluctantly yielded, concealing his vexation with a yawn.