Thereupon he was dismissed with a nod and a smile, which made him quiver in rage for an hour after.

This happened in early morning.

The day was overcast, and a cold wind blew from the mountains; Basil had never known such misery as fell upon him when he re-entered his gloomy, silent house.

On the way home he had passed two funerals--their hurried aspect proving that the dead were victims of the plague, that _lues inguinaria_ which had broken out in Italy two years ago, and with varying intensity continued throughout the land.
Throwing himself down upon a couch, he moaned in utter wretchedness, fearful of the pestilence, yet saying to himself that he cared not if it seized upon him.

His moans became sobs; he wept for a long time, then lay, half soothed by the burst of hysterical passion, with eyes turned blankly to the ceiling and a hand clenched upon his breast.
In his solitude he often talked with Felix, and more intimately perhaps than with either Decius or Marcian.