“Now I have said enough and must but add this, that by the special decree of her captor, the Imperator Titus, the beautiful necklace of pearls worn by the maiden goes with her.  I asked a jeweller friend of mine to look at it just now, and judging as well as he could without removing it from her neck, which was not allowed, he values it at least at a hundred sestertia.  Also, there goes with this lot considerable property, situated in Tyre and neighbouring places, to which, had she been a free woman, she would have succeeded by inheritance.  You may think that Tyre is a long way off and that it will be difficult to take possession of this estate, and, of course, there is something in the objection.  Still, the title to it is secure enough, for here I have a deed signed by Titus Caesar himself, commanding all officials, officers and others concerned, to hand over without waste or deduction all property, real or personal, belonging to the estate of the late Benoni, the Jewish merchant of Tyre, and a member of the Sanhedrim—­the lot’s grandfather, I am informed, gentleman—­to her purchaser, who has only to fill in his own name in the blank space, or any representatives whom he may appoint, which deed is especially declared to be indefeasible.  Any one wish to see it?  No?  Then we will take it as read.  I know that in such a matter, my patrons, my word is enough for you.

“Now I am about to come to business, with the remark that the more liberal your bidding the better will our glorious general, Titus Caesar, be pleased; the better will the poor and the invalided soldiers, who deserve so well at your hands, be pleased; the better will the girl herself be pleased, who I am sure will know how to reward a generous appreciation of her worth; and the better shall I, your humble friend and servant, be pleased, because, as I may inform you in strict secrecy, I am paid, not by a fixed salary, but by commission.

“Now, gentlemen, what may I say?  A thousand sestertia to begin with?  Oh! don’t laugh, I expect more than that.  What!  Fifty?  You are joking, my friend.  However, the acorn grows into the oak, doesn’t it? and I am told that you can stop the sources of the Tiber with your hat; so I’ll start with fifty.  Fifty—­a hundred.  Come, bid up, gentlemen, or we shall never get home to supper.  Two hundred—­three, four, five, six, seven, eight—­ah! that’s better.  What are you stopping for?” and he addressed a hatchet-faced man who had thrust himself forward over the rope of the ring.

The man shook his head with a sigh.  “I’m done,” he said.  “Such goods are for my betters,” a sentiment that seemed to be shared by his rivals, since they also stopped bidding.

“Well, friend Saturius,” said the auctioneer, “have you gone to sleep, or have you anything to say?  Only in hundreds, now, gentlemen, mind, only in hundreds, unless I give the word.  Thank you, I have nine hundred,” and he looked round rather carelessly, expecting at heart that this bid would be the last.