‘A wager on a wager,’ cried Tetraides; ’Clodius bets on me, for twenty sesterces!  What say you, Lydon?’

‘He bets on me!’ said Lydon.

‘No, on me!’ grunted Sporus.

‘Dolts! do you think he would prefer any of you to Niger?’ said the athletic, thus modestly naming himself.

‘Well, well,’ said Stratonice, as she pierced a huge amphora for her guests, who had now seated themselves before one of the tables, ’great men and brave, as ye all think yourselves, which of you will fight the Numidian lion in case no malefactor should be found to deprive you of the option?’

‘I who have escaped your arms, stout Stratonice,’ said Lydon, ’might safely, I think, encounter the lion.’

‘But tell me,’ said Tetraides, ’where is that pretty young slave of yours—­the blind girl, with bright eyes?  I have not seen her a long time.’

‘Oh! she is too delicate for you, my son of Neptune,’ said the hostess, ’and too nice even for us, I think.  We send her into the town to sell flowers and sing to the ladies:  she makes us more money so than she would by waiting on you.  Besides, she has often other employments which lie under the rose.’

‘Other employments!’ said Niger; ‘why, she is too young for them.’

‘Silence, beast!’ said Stratonice; ’you think there is no play but the Corinthian.  If Nydia were twice the age she is at present, she would be equally fit for Vesta—­poor girl!’

‘But, hark ye, Stratonice,’ said Lydon; ’how didst thou come by so gentle and delicate a slave?  She were more meet for the handmaid of some rich matron of Rome than for thee.’

‘That is true,’ returned Stratonice; ’and some day or other I shall make my fortune by selling her.  How came I by Nydia, thou askest.’

‘Ay!’

‘Why, thou seest, my slave Staphyla—­thou rememberest Staphyla, Niger?’

’Ay, a large-handed wench, with a face like a comic mask.  How should I forget her, by Pluto, whose handmaid she doubtless is at this moment!’

’Tush, brute!—­Well, Staphyla died one day, and a great loss she was to me, and I went into the market to buy me another slave.  But, by the gods! they were all grown so dear since I had bought poor Staphyla, and money was so scarce, that I was about to leave the place in despair, when a merchant plucked me by the robe.  “Mistress,” said he, “dost thou want a slave cheap I have a child to sell—­a bargain.  She is but little, and almost an infant, it is true; but she is quick and quiet, docile and clever, sings well, and is of good blood, I assure you.”  “Of what country?” said I.  “Thessalian.”  Now I knew the Thessalians were acute and gentle; so I said I would see the girl.  I found her just as you see her now, scarcely smaller and scarcely younger in appearance.  She looked patient and resigned enough, with her hands crossed on her bosom, and her eyes downcast.  I asked the merchant his