his patron compose billets-doux, and had, by his twistings and scrapings, repeatedly staved off Phormio, Lucius’s importunate creditor.  As for Phaon’s heart, it was so soft and tender that the pricks of conscience, if he ever had any, went straight through, without leaving a trace behind.  And when Pratinas now informed him as to his final duties at Praeneste, Phaon rubbed his beringed hands and smoothed his carefully scraped chin with ill-concealed satisfaction.

“And a word more in closing,” said Pratinas, as he parted with Phaon in the tavern—­while Lucius, who had been drinking very heavily, nodded stupidly over his goblet of amber Falernian, in a vain attempt to gulp down eight cyathi at once, one measure to each letter in the name of Cornelia—­“a word more.  Dumnorix is a thick-skulled knave, who is, after all, good for little but blows.  I have made an arrangement which will ensure having a careful man at his elbow in time of need.  You, of course, will have to do your best to save the unfortunate Quintus from inevitable fate.  But I have asked Publius Gabinius to leave for Praeneste very early on the morning when Dumnorix passes through that place.  Gabinius has a small villa a little beyond the town, and there will be nothing suspicious in a journey to visit one’s country house.  He will meet Dumnorix, and be at his side when the pinch comes.  You see?  He is an adventurous fellow, and will help us just for the sake of the mischief.  Besides, I believe he has a grudge against the Drusian family as a whole, for he lately tried to pass some familiarities with Fabia the Vestal, Drusus’s aunt, and she proved disgustingly prudish.”

“And how much will you and I,” said Phaon, with a sly smirk, “gain out of this little business, if all goes well?  Of course one should help one’s patron, but—­”

“It is folly to divide the spoils of Troy before Troy is taken,” laughed Pratinas.  “Don’t be alarmed, my good fellow.  Your excellent patron will reward us, no doubt, amply.”  And he muttered to himself:  “If I don’t bleed that Lucius Ahenobarbus, that Roman donkey, out of two-thirds of his new fortune; if I don’t levy blackmail on him without mercy when he’s committed himself, and becomes a partner in crime, I’m no fox of a Hellene.  I wonder that he is the son of a man like Domitius, who was so shrewd in that old affair with me at Antioch.”

* * * * *

So it came to pass that the next morning, long before Pratinas and Ahenobarbus met in the Forum and reviewed the steps taken in the words that gave Sesostris the key to the situation, Phaon was driving toward Praeneste.  Of course a mere freedman, on a journey preferably kept quiet, travelled in not the least state.  He rode alone, but had borrowed from his patron two of those small but speedy Gallic horses called mammi, that whirled his gig over the Campagna at a rapid trot.  Still there was no great call for haste.  He wished