“And when you loved each other?” Julia said in a tone of concentrated passion.

“And when we loved each other,” Clotilde repeated, her head thrown back now, and her bearing as proud and haughty as that of Julia.

“You hear that, mother? you hear this comedy that these slaves have been playing under your nose?  Send them both to the whipping post.”

“My dear Julia,” Flavia exclaimed, more and more surprised at her anger, “what harm has been done?  You astonish me.  Clotilde, you can retire.  What means all this, Julia?” she went on more severely when they were alone; “why all this strange passion because two slaves, who by some chance have met each other before, are lovers?  What is this Gaulish girl, what is this Carthaginian slave, to you?”

“I love him, mother!” Julia said passionately.

“You!” Flavia exclaimed in angry surprise; “you, Julia, of the house of Gracchus, love a slave!  You are mad, girl, and shameless.”

“I say so without shame,” Julia replied, “and why should I not?  He is a noble of Carthage, though now a prisoner of war.  What if my father is a consul?  Malchus is the cousin of Hannibal, who is a greater man than Rome has ever yet seen.  Why should I not wed him?”

“In the first place, it seems, Julia,” Flavia said gravely, “because he loves someone else.  In the second place, because, as I hear, he is likely to be exchanged very shortly for a praetor taken prisoner at Cannae, and will soon be fighting against us.  In the third place, because all Rome would be scandalized were a Roman maiden of the patrician order, and of the house of Gracchus, to marry one of the invaders of her country.  Go to, Julia, I blush for you!  So this is the reason why of late you have behaved so coldly to Sempronius.  Shame on you, daughter!  What would your father say, did he, on his return from the field, hear of your doings?  Go to your chamber, and do not let me see you again till you can tell me that you have purged this madness from your veins.”

Without a word Julia turned and left the room.  Parental discipline was strong in Rome, and none dare disobey a parent’s command, and although Julia had far more liberty and license than most unmarried Roman girls, she did not dare to answer her mother when she spoke in such a tone.

Flavia sat for some time in thought, then she sent for Malchus.  He had already exchanged a few words with Clotilde, and was therefore prepared for her questions.

“Malchus, is it true that you love my Gaulish slave girl?”

“It is true,” Malchus replied quietly.  “When we met in Gaul, two years since, she was the daughter of a chief, I a noble of Carthage.  I loved her; but we were both young, and with so great a war in hand it was not a time to speak of marriage.”

“Would you marry her now?”

“Not as a slave,” Malchus replied; “when I marry her it shall be before the face of all men —­ I as a noble of Carthage, she as a noble Gaulish maiden.”