"Good-night, gentlemen; we meet to-morrow." The council broke up, and filed out of the tent.

Lentulus Spinther paused to cast a look of savage anger at Scipio, who lingered behind.
The contest over the pontificate still rankled in his breast.

That four and twenty hours hence both of these aristocratic gentlemen might have more pressing things to think of seemingly entered the head of neither.

Lentulus Crus, Domitius, and Scipio waited after the others were gone.
"I have been wondering all day," said the genial Domitius, when the tent had emptied, "how Caesar will comport himself if he is taken prisoner and not slain in battle.

I give him credit for not being likely to flee away." "I trust he will die a soldier's death," replied Pompeius, gloomily.
"It would be a grievous thing to have him fall into my hands.