None but men entered this kitchen:  they were the cook, or coquus, and his subaltern, the slave of the slave, focarius.  The meal is ready, and now come other slaves assigned to the table,—­the tricliniarches, or foreman of all the rest; the lectisterniator, who makes the beds; the praegustator, who tastes the viands beforehand to reassure his master; the structor, who arranges the dishes on the plateaux or trays; the scissor, who carves the meats; and the young pocillatro, or pincerna, who pours out the wine into the cups, sometimes dancing as he does so (as represented by Moliere) with the airs and graces of a woman or a spoiled child.

There is festivity to-day:  Paratus sups with Pansa, or rather Pansa with Paratus, for I persist in thinking that we are in the house of the elector and not of the future aedile.  If the master of the house be a real Roman, like Cicero, he rose early this morning and began the day with receiving visits.  He is rich, and therefore has many friends, and has them of three kinds,—­the salutatores, the ductores, and the assectatores.  The first-named call upon him at his own house; the second accompany him to public meetings; and the third never leave him at all in public.  He has, besides, a number of clients, whom he protects and whom he calls “my father” if they be old, and “my brother” if they be young.  There are others who come humbly to offer him a little basket (sportula), which they carry away full of money or provisions.  This morning Paratus has sent off his visitors expeditiously; then, as he is no doubt a pious man, he has gone through his devotions before the domestic altar, where his household gods are ranged.  We know that he offered peculiar worship to Bacchus, for he had a little bronze statue of that god, with silver eyes; it was, I think, at the entrance of his garden, in a kettle, wrapped up with other precious articles, Paratus tried to save this treasure on the day of the eruption, but he had to abandon it in order to save himself.  But to continue my narration of the day as this Pompeian spent it.  His devotions over, he took a turn to the Forum, the Exchange, the Basilica, where he supported the candidature of Pansa.  From there, unquestionably, he did not omit going to the Thermae, a measure of health; and, now, at length, he has just returned to his home.  During his absence, his slaves have cleansed the marbles, washed the stucco, covered the pavements with sawdust, and, if it be in winter, have lit fuel oil large bronze braziers in the open air and borne them into the saloons, for there are no chimneys anywhere.  The expected guest at length arrives—­salutations to Pansa, the future aedile!  Meanwhile Sabina, the wife of Paratus, has not remained inactive.  She has passed the whole morning at her toilet, for the toilet of a Sabina, Pompeian or Roman, is an affair of state,—­see Boettger’s book.  As she awoke she snapped