drew near the shore. As they passed several camp fires they were
hailed by obscene calls from the soldiers and the women who thought them
an amorous pair in search of a hiding-place. Some armed groups allowed
them to pass without the slightest suspicion.

The murmur of the waves on the sand grew louder. They were walking
through the rushes, sinking into the warm and oozy bottom of the lagoon
formed by the overflow of the tide.

The poor _lupa_ stood still.

"Here I leave you, Actaeon. If you wished I would follow you as your
slave! But you do not wish it; I know what I am----I can be nothing to
you! You are going away forever, but I am content because you are
fleeing from Sonnica. Before we part, kiss me, my divinity! No, not on
the eyes----on the mouth----thus!"

The Athenian, with tender commiseration, moved by the kindness of the
miserable creature, kissed the dry and flaccid lips, from which escaped
the insufferable odor of the wine of the Balearic slingers.

CHAPTER VIII

THE ROME OF FABIUS THE DELAYER

When the sun's first rays reddened the walls of the Capitol the life of
Rome had been astir for more than an hour.

The Romans arose from their couches by the light of the morning stars.
Carts from the Campagna rolled in the darkness through the tortuous
streets, slaves awakened by the crowing of the cock trudged along
carrying baskets and farm utensils, and by the hour of dawn all the
houses had their doors thrown open, and the citizens not employed in the
fields gathered in the Forum, that centre of traffic and of public
business, that had begun to be adorned with the earlier temples, but
still retained broad barren spaces upon which in later centuries were to
rise the architectural glories of Rome, mistress of the world.

Actaeon had been in the great city for two days, lodged in an extramural
inn established by a Greek. He never ceased to marvel at this austere
Republic, existing almost in poverty, a hardy nation of farmers and
soldiers who filled the world with their fame while they endured greater
privation than any hamlet on the outskirts of Athens.

Actaeon expected to appear before the Senate that very day. The majority
of the Fathers of the Republic lived in the country, in rustic villas
with walls of unseasoned adobe roofed with branches, overseeing the work
of their slaves, guiding the plow like Cincinnatus and Camillus; when
affairs of state called them to the Senate they came into Ro