Over in one corner of the room, on a low divan, was sitting a strange-looking personage.  A gaunt, elderly man clothed in a very dingy Greek himation, with shaggy grey hair, and an enormous beard that tumbled far down his breast.  This personage was Pisander, Valeria’s “house-philosopher,” who was expected to be always at her elbow pouring into her ears a rain of learned lore.  For this worthy lady (and two thousand years later would she not be attending lectures on Dante or Browning?) was devoted to philosophy, and loved to hear the Stoics[36] and Epicureans expound their varying systems of the cosmos.  At this moment she was feasting her soul on Plato.  Pisander was reading from the “Phaidros,” “They might have seen beauty shining in brightness, when the happy band, following in the train of Zeus (as we philosophers did; or with the other gods, as others did), saw a vision, and were initiated into most blessed mysteries, which we celebrated in our state of innocence; and having no feeling of evils yet to come; beholding apparitions, innocent and simple and calm and happy as in a mystery; shining in pure light; pure ourselves, and not yet enchained in that living tomb which we carry about, now that we are imprisoned in the body ...”

  [36] The opponents of the Epicureans; they nobly antagonized the mere
  pursuit of pleasure held out as the one end of life by the Epicurean,
  and glorified duty.

“Pratinas, to see her ladyship!” bawled a servant-boy[37] at the doorway, very unceremoniously interrupting the good man and his learnedly sublime lore.  And Pratinas, with the softest and sweetest of his Greek smiles, entered the room.

  [37] Cubicularius.

“Your ladyship does me the honour,” he began, with an extremely deferential salutation.

“Oh, my dear Pratinas,” cried Valeria, in a language she called Greek, seizing his hand and almost embracing him, “how delighted I am to see you!  We haven’t met since—­since yesterday morning.  I did so want to have a good talk with you about Plato’s theory of the separate existence of ideas.  But first I must ask you, have you heard whether the report is true that Terentia, Caius Glabrio’s wife, has run off with a gladiator?”

“So Gabinius, I believe,” replied Pratinas, “just told me.  And I heard something else.  A great secret.  You must not tell.”

“Oh!  I am dying to know,” smirked Valeria.

“Well,” said the Greek, confidentially, “Publius Silanus has divorced his wife, Crispia.  ‘She went too much,’ he says, ’with young Purpureo.’”

“You do not say so!” exclaimed the lady.  “I always knew that would happen!  Now tell me, don’t you think this perfume of iris is delicate?  It’s in that little glass scent bottle; break the neck.[38] I shall use it in a minute.  I have just had some bottles sent up from Capua.  Roman perfumes are so vulgar!”

  [38] To let out the ointment.  Capua was a famed emporium for perfumes
  and like wares.