yes, Lygia was not there. Ursus, stooping before the
chimney, was raking apart the gray ashes, and seeking live coals beneath
them. When he found some, he began to blow, not with his mouth, but as
it were with the bellows of a blacksmith. Vinicius, remembering how that
man had crushed Croton the day before, examined with attention befitting
a lover of the arena his gigantic back, which resembled the back of a
Cyclops, and his limbs strong as columns.

"Thanks to Mercury that my neck was not broken by him," thought
Vinicius. "By Pollux! if the other Lygians are like this one, the
Danubian legions will have heavy work some time!"

But aloud he said, "Hei, slave!"

Ursus drew his head out of the chimney, and, smiling in a manner almost
friendly, said,--"God give thee a good day, lord, and good health; but I
am a free man, not a slave."

On Vinicius who wished to question Ursus touching Lygia's birthplace,
these words produced a certain pleasant impression; for discourse with
a free though a common man was less disagreeable to his Roman and
patrician pride, than with a slave, in whom neither law nor custom
recognized human nature.

"Then thou dost not belong to Aulus?" asked he.

"No, lord, I serve Callina, as I served her mother, of my own will."

Here he hid his head again in the chimney, to blow the coals, on which
he had placed some wood. When he had finished, he took it out and
said,--"With us there are no slaves."

"Where is Lygia?" inquired Vinicius.

"She has gone out, and I am to cook food for thee. She watched over thee
the whole night."

"Why didst thou not relieve her?"

"Because she wished to watch, and it is for me to obey." Here his eyes
grew gloomy, and after a while he added:

"If I had disobeyed her, thou wouldst not be living."

"Art thou sorry for not having killed me?"

"No, lord. Christ has not commanded us to kill."

"But Atacinus and Croton?"

"I could not do otherwise," muttered Ursus. And he looked with regret
on his hands, which had remained pagan evidently, though his soul
had accepted the cross. Then he put a pot on the crane, and fixed his
thoughtful eyes on the fire.

"That was thy fault, lord," said he at last. "Why didst thou raise thy
hand against her, a king's daughter?"

Pride boiled up, at the first moment, in Vinicius, because a common man
and a barbarian had not merely dared to speak to him thus familiarly,
but to blame him in addition. To those uncommon and impr