that shameless letting loose of the senses; now disgust and
repugnance possessed him. He felt that infamy was stifling him; that
his breast needed air and the stars which were hidden by the thickets of
that dreadful grove. He determined to flee; but barely had he moved
when before him stood some veiled figure, which placed its hands on his
shoulders and whispered, flooding his face with burning breath, "I love
thee! Come! no one will see us, hasten!"

Vinicius was roused, as if from a dream.

"Who art thou?"

But she leaned her breast on him and insisted,--"Hurry! See how lonely
it is here, and I love thee! Come!"

"Who art thou?" repeated Vinicius.

"Guess!"

As she said this, she pressed her lips to his through the veil, drawing
toward her his head at the same time, till at last breath failed the
woman and she tore her face from him.

"Night of love! night of madness!" said she, catching the air quickly.
"Today is free! Thou hast me!"

But that kiss burned Vinicius; it filled him with disquiet. His soul and
heart were elsewhere; in the whole world nothing existed for him except
Lygia. So, pushing back the veiled figure, he said,--

"Whoever thou be, I love another, I do not wish thee."

"Remove the veil," said she, lowering her head toward him.

At that moment the leaves of the nearest myrtle began to rustle; the
veiled woman vanished like a dream vision, but from a distance her laugh
was heard, strange in some way, and ominous.

Petronius stood before Vinicius.

"I have heard and seen," said he.

"Let us go from this place," replied Vinicius.

And they went. They passed the lupanaria gleaming with light, the grove,
the line of mounted pretorians, and found the litters.

"I will go with thee," said Petronius.

They sat down together. On the road both were silent, and only in the
atrium of Vinicius's house did Petronius ask,--"Dost thou know who that
was?"

"Was it Rubria?" asked Vinicius, repulsed at the very thought that
Rubria was a vestal.

"No."

"Who then?"

Petronius lowered his voice. "The fire of Vesta was defiled, for Rubria
was with Caesar. But with thee was speaking"--and he finished in a still
lower voice, "the divine Augusta."

A moment of silence followed.

"Caesar," said Petronius, "was unable to hide from Poppaea his desire for
Rubria; therefore she wished, perhaps, to avenge herself. But I hindered
you both. Hadst thou recognized the Augusta and refused her, thou
would