of me, did you? I am Quartilla's
handmaid: Quartilla, whose rites you interrupted in the shrine. She has
come to the inn, in person, and begs permission to speak with you. Don't
be alarmed! She neither blames your mistake nor does she demand
punishment; on the contrary, she wonders what god has brought such
well-bred young gentlemen into her neighborhood!"

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.

We were still holding our tongues and refraining from any expression of
opinion, when the lady herself entered the room, attended by a little
girl. Seating herself upon the bed, she wept for a long time. Not even
then did we interject a single word, but waited, all attention, for what
was to follow these well ordered tears and this show of grief. When the
diplomatic thunderstorm had passed over, she withdrew her haughty head
from her mantle and, ringing her hands until the joints cracked, "What is
the meaning of such audacity?" she demanded; "where did you learn such
tricks? They are worthy of putting to shame the assurance of all the
robbers of the past! I pity you, so help me the God of Truth, I do; for
no one can look with impunity upon that which it is unlawful for him to
see. In our neighborhood, there are so many gods that it is easier to
meet one than it is to find a man! But do not think that I was actuated
by any desire for revenge when I came here: I am more moved by your age
than I am by my own injury, for it is my belief that youthful imprudence
led you into committing a sacrilegious crime. That very night, I tossed
so violently in the throes of a dangerous chill that I was afraid I had
contracted a tertian ague, and in my dreams I prayed for a medicine. I
was ordered to seek you out, and to arrest the progress of the disease by
means of an expedient to be suggested by your wonderful penetration! The
cure does not matter so much, however, for a deeper grief gnaws at my
vitals and drags me down, almost to the very doors of death itself. I am
afraid that, with the careless impulsiveness of youth, you may divulge,
to the common herd, what you witnessed in the shrine of Priapus, and
reveal the rites of the gods to the rabble. On this account, I stretch
out my suppliant hands to your knees, and beg and pray that you do not
make a mockery and a joke of our nocturnal rites, nor lay bare the
secrets of so many years, into which scarcely a thousand persons are
initiated."

CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.

The tears