eatment for her ague, but having her
hopes disappointed, she flounced out in a rage and, returning in a little
while, she had us overpowered by some unknown vagabonds, and gave orders
for us to be carried away to a splendid palace.) Then our determination
gave place to astonishment, and death, sure and certain, began to obscure
the eyes of suffering.

CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.

"Pray; madame," I groaned, "if you have anything worse in store, bring it
on quickly for we have not committed a crime so heinous as to merit death
by torture." The maid, whose name was Psyche, quickly spread a blanket
upon the floor (and) sought to secure an erection by fondling my member,
which was already a thousand times colder than death. Ascyltos, well
aware by now of the danger of dipping into the secrets of others, covered
his head with his mantle. (In the meantime,) the maid took two ribbons
from her bosom and bound our feet with one and our hands with the other.
(Finding myself trussed up in this fashion, I remarked, "You will not be
able to cure your mistress' ague in this manner!" "Granted," the maid
replied, "but I have other and surer remedies at hand," she brought me a
vessel full of satyrion, as she said this, and so cheerfully did she
gossip about its virtues that I drank down nearly all of the liquor, and
because Ascyltos had but a moment before rejected her advances, she
sprinkled the dregs upon his back, without his knowing it.) When this
repartee had drawn to a close, Ascyltos exclaimed, "Don't I deserve a
drink?" Given away by my laughter, the maid clapped her hands and cried,
"I put one by you, young man; did you drink so much all by yourself?"
"What's that you say?", Quartilla chimed in. "Did Encolpius drink all
the satyrion there was in the house?" And she laughed delightfully until
her sides shook. Finally not even Giton himself could resist a smile,
especially when the little girl caught him around the neck and showered
innumerable kisses upon him, and he not at all averse to it.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.

We would have cried aloud in our misery but there was no one to give us
any help, and whenever I attempted to shout, "Help! all honest
citizens," Psyche would prick my cheeks with her hairpin, and the little
girl would intimidate Ascyltos with a brush dipped in satyrion. Then a
catamite appeared, clad in a myrtle-colored frieze robe, and girded round
with a belt. One minute he nearly gored us