ad been
sitting an hour on the bench, studying in her own way, she rolled up the
book and stood up to refresh herself a little. Feeling sure that no one
could see her, she stretched herself in all her limbs and then stepped
up to the gap in the shrubbery in order to see who a man in boots might
be who was pacing up and down in the broad path beyond.

It was the praetor--and yet it was not! Verus, under this aspect at any
rate, she had never seen till now. Where was the smile that was wont
to twinkle in his merry eye like the sparkle of a diamond and to play
saucily about his lips--where the unwrinkled serenity of his brow and
the defiantly audacious demeanor of his whole handsome person? He
was slowly striding up and down with a gloomy fire in his eye, a
deeply-lined brow, and his head sunk on his breast: and yet it was not
bowed with sorrow. If so, could he have snapped his fingers in the air
as he did just as he passed in front of Balbilla, as much as to say:
"Come what may! to-day I live and laugh the future in the face!"

But this vestige of his old reckless audacity did not last longer than
the time it took to part his fingers again, and the next time Verus
passed Balbilla he looked, if possible, more gloomy than before.
Something very unpleasant must have arisen to spoil the good humor of
her friend's husband; and the poetess was sincerely sorry; for, though
she herself had daily to suffer under the praetor's impertinence, she
always forgave it for the sake of the graceful form in which he knew how
to clothe his incivilities.

Balbilla longed to see Verus content once more, and she therefore
came forth from her hiding place. As soon as he saw her he altered the
expression of his features and cried out as brightly as ever:

"Welcome, fairest of the fair!"

She made believe not to recognize him, but, as she passed him and bowed
her curly head, she said gravely and in deep tones:

"Good day to you, Timon."

"Timon?" he asked, taking her hand.

"Ah! is it you, Verus?" she answered, as though surprised. "I thought
the Athenian misanthrope had quitted Hades and come to take the air in
this garden."

"You thought rightly," replied the praetor. "But when Orpheus sings the
trees dance, the Muse can turn dull, motionless stones into a Bacchante,
and when Balbilla appears Timon is at once transformed into the happy
Verus."

"The miracle does not astonish me," laughed the girl. "But is it
permitted to ask what da