’Sosia, I am blind and in prison.  Thou mayst think to deceive me—­thou mayst pretend only to take the letter to Sallust—­thou mayst not fulfill thy charge:  but here I solemnly dedicate thy head to vengeance, thy soul to the infernal powers, if thou wrongest thy trust; and I call upon thee to place thy right hand of faith in mine, and repeat after me these words:  “By the ground on which we stand—­by the elements which contain life and can curse life—­by Orcus, the all-avenging—­by the Olympian Jupiter, the all-seeing—­I swear that I will honestly discharge my trust, and faithfully deliver into the hands of Sallust this letter!  And if I perjure myself in this oath, may the full curses of heaven and hell be wreaked upon me!” Enough!—­I trust thee—­take thy reward.  It is already dark—­depart at once.’

’Thou art a strange girl, and thou hast frightened me terribly; but it is all very natural:  and if Sallust is to be found, I give him this letter as I have sworn.  By my faith, I may have my little peccadilloes! but perjury—­no!  I leave that to my betters.’

With this Sosia withdrew, carefully passing the heavy bolt athwart Nydia’s door—­carefully locking its wards:  and, hanging the key to his girdle, he retired to his own den, enveloped himself from head to foot in a huge disguising cloak, and slipped out by the back way undisturbed and unseen.

The streets were thin and empty.  He soon gained the house of Sallust.  The porter bade him leave his letter, and be gone; for Sallust was so grieved at the condemnation of Glaucus, that he could not on any account be disturbed.

’Nevertheless, I have sworn to give this letter into his own hands—­do so I must!’ And Sosia, well knowing by experience that Cerberus loves a sop, thrust some half a dozen sesterces into the hand of the porter.

‘Well, well,’ said the latter, relenting, ’you may enter if you will; but, to tell you the truth, Sallust is drinking himself out of his grief.  It is his way when anything disturbs him.  He orders a capital supper, the best wine, and does not give over till everything is out of his head—­but the liquor.’

’An excellent plan—­excellent!  Ah, what it is to be rich!  If I were Sallust, I would have some grief or another every day.  But just say a kind word for me with the atriensis—­I see him coming.’

Sallust was too sad to receive company; he was too sad, also, to drink alone; so, as was his wont, he admitted his favorite freedman to his entertainment, and a stranger banquet never was held.  For ever and anon, the kind-hearted epicure sighed, whimpered, wept outright, and then turned with double zest to some new dish or his refilled goblet.

‘My good fellow,’ said he to his companion, it was a most awful judgment—­heigho!—­it is not bad that kid, eh?  Poor, dear Glaucus!—­what a jaw the lion has too!  Ah, ah, ah!’

And Sallust sobbed loudly—­the fit was stopped by a counteraction of hiccups.