to report at home when there was a public or family festival, or something very important.  Consequently he knew that matters serious were on foot, when he read in his father’s note a request to visit Domitius’s palace as soon as convenient.  Lucius was just starting, in his most spotless toga,—­after a prolonged season with his hairdresser,—­to pay a morning call on Cornelia, and so he was the more vexed and perturbed.

  [95] Sons remained under the legal control of a father until the
  latter’s death, unless the tie was dissolved by elaborate ceremonies.

“Curses on Cato,[96] my old uncle,” he muttered, while he waited in the splendid atrium of the house of the Ahenobarbi.  “He has been rating my father about my pranks with Gabinius and Laeca, and something unpleasant is in store for me.”

[96] Cato Minor’s sister Portia was the wife of Lucius Domitius.  Cato was also connected with the Drusi through Marcus Livius Drusus, the murdered reformer, who was the maternal uncle of Cato and Portia.  Lucius Ahenobarbus and Quintus Drusus were thus third cousins.

Domitius presently appeared, and his son soon noticed by the affable yet diplomatic manner of his father, and the gentle warmth of his greeting, that although there was something in the background, it was not necessarily very disagreeable.

“My dear Lucius,” began Domitius, after the first civilities were over, and the father and son had strolled into a handsomely appointed library and taken seats on a deeply upholstered couch, “I have, I think, been an indulgent parent.  But I must tell you, I have heard some very bad stories of late about your manner of life.”

“Oh!” replied Lucius, smiling.  “As your worthy friend Cicero remarked when defending young Caelius, ’those sorts of reproaches are regularly heaped on every one whose person or appearance in youth is at all gentlemanly.’”

“I will thank you if you will not quote Cicero to me,” replied the elder man, a little tartly.  “He will soon be back from Cilicia, and will be prodding and wearying us in the Senate quite enough, with his rhetoric and sophistries.  But I must be more precise.  I have found out how much you owe Phormio.  I thought your dead uncle had left you a moderately large estate for a young man.  Where has it gone to?  Don’t try to conceal it!  It’s been eaten up and drunk up—­spent away for unguents, washed away in your baths, the fish-dealer and the caterer have made way with it, yes, and butchers and cooks, and greengrocers and perfume sellers, and poulterers—­not to mention people more scandalous—­have made off with it.”

Lucius stretched himself out on the divan, caught at a thick, richly embroidered pillow, tossed it over his head on to the floor, yawned, raised himself again upright, and said drawlingly:—­

“Y-e-s, it’s as you say.  I find I spend every sesterce I have, and all I can borrow.  But so long as Phormio is accommodating, I don’t trouble myself very much about the debts.”