“What, alone?” said the prince, springing to his feet.

“Nay, lord,” said the slave, “there is a woman with him.”

At this news instantly his ill-temper was forgotten.

“Let that girl go,” he said, “and bid her be more careful another time.  Away, all the lot of you, I wish to be private.  Now, slave, bid the worthy Saturius enter with his charge.”

Presently the curtains were drawn apart and through them came Saturius rubbing his hands and smiling somewhat nervously, followed by a woman wrapped in a long cloak and veiled.  He began to offer the customary salutations, but Domitian cut him short.

“Rise, man,” he said.  “That sort of thing is very well in public, but I don’t want it here.  So you have got her,” he added, eyeing the draped form in the background.

“Yes,” replied Saturius doubtfully.

“Good, your services shall be remembered.  You were ever a discreet and faithful agent.  Did the bidding run high?”

“Oh! my lord, enormous, ee—­normous.  I never heard such bidding,” and he stretched out his hands.

“Impertinence!  Who dared to compete with me?” remarked Domitian.  “Well, what did you have to give?”

“Fifty sestertia, my lord.”

“Fifty sestertia?” answered Domitian with an air of relief.  “Well, of course it is enough, but I have known beautiful maidens fetch more.  By the way, dear one,” he went on, addressing the veiled woman, “you must, I fear, be tired after all that weary, foolish show.”

The “dear one” making no audible reply, Domitian went on: 

“Modesty is pleasing in a maid, but now I pray you, forget it for awhile.  Unveil yourself, most beautiful, that I may behold that loveliness for which my heart has ached these many days.  Nay, that task shall be my own,” and he advanced somewhat unsteadily towards his prize.

Saturius thought that he saw his chance.  Domitian was so intoxicated that it would be useless to attempt to explain matters that night.  Clearly he should retire as soon as possible.

“Most noble prince and patron,” he began, “my duty is done, with your leave I will withdraw.”

“By no means, by no means,” hiccupped Domitian, “I know that you are an excellent judge of beauty, most discriminating Saturius, and I should like to talk over the points of this lady with you.  You know, dear Saturius, that I am not selfish, and to tell the truth, which you won’t mind between friends—­who could be jealous of a wizened, last year’s walnut of a man like you?  Not I, Saturius, not I, whom everybody acknowledges to be the most beautiful person in Rome, much better looking than Titus is, although he does call himself Caesar.  Now for it.  Where’s the fastening?  Saturius, find the fastening.  Why do you tie up the poor girl like an Egyptian corpse and prevent her lord and master from looking at her?”

As he spoke the slave did something to the back of her head and the veil fell to the ground, revealing a girl of very pleasing shape and countenance, but who, as might be expected, looked most weary and frightened.  Domitian stared at her with his bleared and wicked eyes, while a puzzled expression grew upon his face.