s near a boat, she looks at it and goes away; but the
fisherman on whom she has fixed her eye dies."

"Not a bad theme," said Petronius.

But Vestinius, stretching his neck like a stork, whispered
mysteriously,--"I do not believe in the gods; but I believe in
spirits--Oi!"

Nero paid no attention to their words, and continued,--"I celebrated the
Lemuria, and have no wish to see her. This is the fifth year--I had
to condemn her, for she sent assassins against me; and, had I not been
quicker than she, ye would not be listening to-night to my song."

"Thanks be to Caesar, in the name of the city and the world!" cried
Domitius Afer.

"Wine! and let them strike the tympans!"

The uproar began anew. Lucan, all in ivy, wishing to outshout him, rose
and cried,--"I am not a man, but a faun; and I dwell in the forest.
Eho-o-o-oo!" Caesar drank himself drunk at last; men were drunk, and
women were drunk. Vinicius was not less drunk than others; and in
addition there was roused in him, besides desire, a wish to quarrel,
which happened always when he passed the measure. His dark face became
paler, and his tongue stuttered when he spoke, in a voice now loud and
commanding,--"Give me thy lips! To-day, to-morrow, it is all one! Enough
of this!

"Caesar took thee from Aulus to give thee to me, dost understand?
To-morrow, about dusk, I will send for thee, dost understand? Caesar
promised thee to me before he took thee. Thou must be mine! Give me thy
lips! I will not wait for to-morrow,--give thy lips quickly."

And he moved to embrace her; but Acte began to defend her, and she
defended herself with the remnant of her strength, for she felt that she
was perishing. But in vain did she struggle with both hands to remove
his hairless arm; in vain, with a voice in which terror and grief were
quivering, did she implore him not to be what he was, and to have pity
on her. Sated with wine, his breath blew around her nearer and nearer,
and his face was there near her face. He was no longer the former kind
Vinicius, almost dear to her soul; he was a drunken, wicked satyr, who
filled her with repulsion and terror. But her strength deserted her
more and more. In vain did she bend and turn away her face to escape his
kisses. He rose to his feet, caught her in both arms, and drawing her
head to his breast, began, panting, to press her pale lips with his.

But at this instant a tremendous power removed his arms from her neck
with as much ease