ugh of love with her two husbands;
with the third she has other views. Dost thou know that that stupid
Otho loves her yet to distraction? He walks on the cliffs of Spain, and
sighs; he has so lost his former habits, and so ceased to care for his
person, that three hours each day suffice him to dress his hair. Who
could have expected this of Otho?"

"I understand him," answered Vinicius; "but in his place I should have
done something else."

"What, namely?"

"I should have enrolled faithful legions of mountaineers of that
country. They are good soldiers,--those Iberians."

"Vinicius! Vinicius! I almost wish to tell thee that thou wouldst not
have been capable of that. And knowest why? Such things are done, but
they are not mentioned even conditionally. As to me, in his place, I
should have laughed at Poppaea, laughed at Bronzebeard, and formed for
myself legions, not of Iberian men, however, but Iberian women. And what
is more, I should have written epigrams which I should not have read to
any one,--not like that poor Rufinus."

"Thou wert to tell me his history."

"I will tell it in the unctorium."

But in the unctorium the attention of Vinicius was turned to other
objects; namely, to wonderful slave women who were waiting for the
bathers. Two of them, Africans, resembling noble statues of ebony,
began to anoint their bodies with delicate perfumes from Arabia; others,
Phrygians, skilled in hairdressing, held in their hands, which were
bending and flexible as serpents, combs and mirrors of polished steel;
two Grecian maidens from Kos, who were simply like deities, waited as
vestiplicae, till the moment should come to put statuesque folds in the
togas of the lords.

"By the cloud-scattering Zeus!" said Marcus Vinicius, "what a choice
thou hast!"

"I prefer choice to numbers," answered Petronius. "My whole 'familia'
[household servants] in Rome does not exceed four hundred, and I judge
that for personal attendance only upstarts need a greater number of
people."

"More beautiful bodies even Bronzebeard does not possess," said
Vinicius, distending his nostrils.

"Thou art my relative," answered Petronius, with a certain friendly
indifference, "and I am neither so misanthropic as Barsus nor such a
pedant as Aulus Plautius."

When Vinicius heard this last name, he forgot the maidens from Kos for a
moment, and, raising his head vivaciously, inquired,--"Whence did Aulus
Plautius come to thy mind? Dost thou know