rkmen and slaves had just been let out to give
themselves up to the pleasures of their holiday, he muttered to himself:

"These creatures can riot, shout, dress themselves with garlands, forget
themselves in a debauch--and I, I whom all envy--I spoil my brief
span of life with vain labors, let myself be tormented with consuming
cares--I--" here he broke off and cried in quite an altered tone:

"Ha! ha! Antinous, you are wiser than I. Let us leave the future to the
future. The feast-day is ours too; let us take advantage of this day
of freedom. We too will throw ourselves into the holiday whirlpool
disguised, I as a satyr, and you as a young faun or something of the
kind; we will drain cups, wander round the city and enjoy all that is
enjoyable."

"Oh!" exclaimed Antinous, joyfully clapping his hands.

"Evoe Bacche!" cried Hadrian, tossing up his cup that stood on his
table. "You are free till this evening, Mastor, and you my boy, go and
talk to Pollux, the sculptor. He shall be our guide and he will provide
us with wreaths and some mad disguise. I must see drunken men, I must
laugh with the jolliest before I am Caesar again. Make haste, my friend,
or new cares will come to spoil my holiday mood."

CHAPTER XXII.

Antinous and Mastor at once quitted the Emperor's room; in the corridor
the lad beckoned the slave to him and said in a low voice:

"You can hold your tongue I know, will you do me a favor?"

"Three sooner than one," replied the Sarmatian.

"You are free to-day--are you going into the city?"

"I think so."

"You are not known here, but that does not matter. Take these gold
pieces and in the flower-market buy with one of them the most beautiful
bunch of flowers you can find, with another you may make merry, and
out of the remainder spend a drachma in hiring an ass. The driver will
conduct you to the garden of Pudeus' widow where stands the house of
dame Hannah; you remember the name?"

"Dame Hannah and the widow of Pudeus."

"And at the little house, not the big one, leave the flowers for the
sick Selene."

"The daughter of the fat steward, who was attacked by our big dog?"
asked Mastor, curiously.

"She or another," said Antinous, impatiently, "and when they ask you
who sent the flowers, say 'the friend at Lochias,' nothing more. You
understand."

The slave nodded and said to himself: "What! you too-oh! these women."

Antinous signed to him to be silent, impressed on him in a few hasty