to drink.

"What was in the letter?" asked Senecio.

"In the letter was the question: 'What is the color of the bull which I
am to sacrifice: white or black?'"

But the interest roused by the narrative was interrupted by Vitelius,
who, drunk when he came to the feast, burst forth on a sudden and
without cause in senseless laughter.

"What is that keg of tallow laughing at?" asked Nero.

"Laughter distinguishes men from animals," said Petronius, "and he has
no other proof that he is not a wild boar."

Vitelius stopped half-way in his laughter, and smacking his lips,
shining from fat and sauces, looked at those present with as much
astonishment as if he had never seen them before; then he raised his two
hands, which were like cushions, and said in a hoarse voice,--"The ring
of a knight has fallen from my finger, and it was inherited from my
father."

"Who was a tailor," added Nero.

But Vitelius burst forth again in unexpected laughter, and began to
search for his ring in the peplus of Calvia Crispinilla.

Hereupon Vestinius fell to imitating the cries of a frightened woman.
Nigidia, a friend of Calvia,--a young widow with the face of a child
and the eyes of a wanton,--said aloud,--"He is seeking what he has not
lost."

"And which will be useless to him if he finds it," finished the poet
Lucan.

The feast grew more animated. Crowds of slaves bore around successive
courses; from great vases filled with snow and garlanded with
ivy, smaller vessels with various kinds of wine were brought forth
unceasingly. All drank freely. On the guests, roses fell from the
ceiling at intervals.

Petronius entreated Nero to dignify the feast with his song before the
guests drank too deeply. A chorus of voices supported his words, but
Nero refused at first. It was not a question of courage alone, he said,
though that failed him always. The gods knew what efforts every success
cost him. He did not avoid them, however, for it was needful to do
something for art; and besides, if Apollo had gifted him with a certain
voice, it was not proper to let divine gifts be wasted. He understood,
even, that it was his duty to the State not to let them be wasted. But
that day he was really hoarse. In the night he had placed leaden weights
on his chest, but that had not helped in any way. He was thinking even
to go to Antium, to breathe the sea air.

Lucan implored him in the name of art and humanity. All knew that the
divine poet and sing