The timid fled before them, the noisy shouted with them, the bold plunged into their ranks; and the constant burden of their rejoicing chorus was--'Health to the noble Pomponius! Prosperity to the senators of Rome, who feast us with their food and give us the freedom of their theatres! Glory to Pomponius! Glory to the senators!' Fate seemed on this day to take pleasure in pampering the insatiable curiosity of Gordian, the bailiff.

The cries of the multitude had scarcely died away in the distance, as they followed the departing carriage, when the voices of two men, pitched to a low, confidential tone, reached his ear from the opposite side of the pillar.

He peeped cautiously round, and saw that they were priests.
'What an eternal jester is that Pomponius!' said one voice.

'He is going to receive absolution, and he journeys in his chariot of state, as if he were preparing to celebrate his triumph, instead of to confess his sins!' 'Has he committed, then, a fresh imprudence ?' 'Alas, yes! For a senator he is dreadfully wanting in caution! A few days since, in a fit of passion, he flung a drinking-cup at one of his female slaves.

The girl died on the spot, and her brother, who is also in his service, threatened immediate vengeance.