"Arria, will you come to me?" said the Lady Lucia.

The girl came quickly--a dainty creature of sixteen, her dark hair
waving, under jewelled fillets, to a knot behind. From below the knot
a row of curls fell upon the folds of her outer tunic. It was a filmy,
transparent thing--this garment--through which one could see the white
of arm and breast and the purple fillets on her legs.

"She is indeed beautiful in the yellow tunic. I should think that
scarlet rug had caught fire and wrapped her in its flame," said the
poet Ovid.

"Nay, her heart is afire, and its light hath the color of roses," said
an old philosopher who sat by. "Can you not see it shining through her
cheeks?"

"Young sirs," said the Lady Lucia, with a happy smile, as she raised
her daughter's hand, "now for your offers."

It was a merry challenge, and shows how lightly they treated a sacred
theme those days.

First rose the grave senator, Aulus Valerius Maro by name.

"Madame," said he, stepping forward and bowing low, "I offer my heart
and my fortune, and the strength of my arms and the fleetness of my
feet and the fair renown of my fathers."

The Lady Lucia turned to her daughter with a look of inquiry.

"Brave words are not enough," said the fair Roman maiden, smiling, as
her eyes fell.

Then came the effeminate Gracus, in head-dress and neckerchief, frilled
robe and lady's sandals. He was of great sires who had borne the Roman
eagles into Gaul.

"Good lady," said he, "I would give my life."

"And had I more provocation," said Arria, raising a jewelled bodkin, "I
would take it."

Now the splendid Antipater, son of Herod the Great, was up and
speaking. "I offer," said he, "my heart and wealth and half my hopes,
and the jewels of my mother, and a palace in the beautiful city of
Jerusalem."

"And a pretty funeral," the girl remarked, thoughtfully. "Jerusalem is
half-way to Hades."

The Roman matron turned, and put her arm around the waist of the girl
and drew her close. A young man rose from his chair and approached
them. He was Vergilius, son of Varro, and of equestrian knighthood.
His full name was Quintus Vergilius Varro, but all knew the youth by
his nomen. Tall and erect, with curly blond locks and blue eyes and
lips delicately curved, there was in that hall no ancestral mask or
statue so nobly favored. He had been taught by an old philosopher to
value truth as the better part of honor--a view not common then, but
the