The morning after the bacchanalia in the saloon of the palace, the divan was covered with young patricians.

Maxentius might come, and the city throng to receive him; the legion might descend from Mount Sulpius in glory of arms and armor; from Nymphaeum to Omphalus there might be ceremonial splendors to shame the most notable ever before seen or heard of in the gorgeous East; yet would the many continue to sleep ignominiously on the divan where they had fallen or been carelessly tumbled by the indifferent slaves; that they would be able to take part in the reception that day was about as possible as for the lay-figures in the studio of a modern artist to rise and go bonneted and plumed through the one, two, three of a waltz.
Not all, however, who participated in the orgy were in the shameful condition.

When dawn began to peer through the skylights of the saloon, Messala arose, and took the chaplet from his head, in sign that the revel was at end; then he gathered his robe about him, gave a last look at the scene, and, without a word, departed for his quarters.
Cicero could not have retired with more gravity from a night-long senatorial debate.
Three hours afterwards two couriers entered his room, and from his own hand received each a despatch, sealed and in duplicate, and consisting chiefly of a letter to Valerius Gratus, the procurator, still resident in Caesarea.

The importance attached to the speedy and certain delivery of the paper may be inferred.

One courier was to proceed overland, the other by sea; both were to make the utmost haste.
It is of great concern now that the reader should be fully informed of the contents of the letter thus forwarded, and it is accordingly given: "ANTIOCH, XII.Kal.