The Lions Brood | Page 9

of trouble for the sake of a very discourteous person," she said. "I sent Minutia to tell a certain soldier that I am willing to bid him farewell, despite his unworthiness, and he comes and nearly strangles poor old Rhetus for trying to say that I was awaiting him in the peristyle."
"Rhetus' attempt was not very successful, and my time was short," said Sergius, growing alternately red and pale.
"And so you thought to hasten his speech by closing his throat? Oh! you are a wise man--a very logical man. They should have made you dictator, so that you could save Italy by surrendering Rome."
"Is it to say such things that you sent for me?" asked Sergius, after a pause during which he struggled against embarrassment and wrath.
"Surely not, for how could I know that you were going to behave so outrageously? If you will follow me, we will go into the peristyle."
She turned back through the passage, and Sergius followed, issuing a moment later into a large, cloister-like court, open in the middle, and decorated with flowers and shrubs. Four rows of columns, half plain, half fluted, supported the shed roof that protected the frescoes. These covered three of the walls. On the back was a garden scene so painted as to seem like a continuation of the court itself into the far distance; on the right was the combat between Aeneas and Turnus, and on the left a representation of the first Torquatus despoiling the slain Gaul of the trophy from which the family took its name.
"And now I will tell you why I sent."
She had seated herself in a marble chair with wolf heads carved on the arms, and her face had grown grave and thoughtful.
"It was to tell you a dream--a dream of you that I had last night."
Her cheek flushed, and Sergius' eyes sparkled.
"You dreamt of me?" he said in a low voice. He half raised his arms and came nearer; but she held up one hand in the old imperious manner.
"If you please, I have not sent for you that you should grow presumptuous, because I was unmaidenly enough to dream of so badly behaved a person as yourself. It--it was because it--I thought you should know, so that the omen might be expiated."
Sergius had halted and was standing still. His lip curled slightly.
"I dreamt," she went on, after a short pause, "that there was a wide plain with mountains about it and a river running through; and it was all heaped up with dead men--thousands upon thousands--stripped of arms and clothing, and the air was gray with vultures, and the wolves and foxes were calling to each other back among the hills. And I was very sad and walked daintily so that my sandals and gown might not be splashed with the blood that curdled in pools all about. Suddenly I came to a heap of slain whereon you were lying, with a long javelin through your body. So I screamed and awoke--"
"Surely, then, you felt sorrow," cried Sergius, who had followed the narrative with deep interest, but who seemed to consider nothing of it save the concern she had shown at his death.
"I--I," she began; and then, as if angry with herself at the betrayal of feeling and of her embarrassment, she burst out; "I did not send, foolish one, that you should consider me. Look rather to yourself."
But Sergius was full of the joy of his own thoughts.
"That I shall do, my Marcia, by setting my mind upon things that are better than myself--the Republic--you--"
"Ah, but the omen?"
"I shall put it aside together with the other: that you have called me back from the march; and I shall consider both well expiated by the knowledge that I am not as nothing to you."
Her face grew pale, and she half rose from the chair.
"Truly, I did not think about calling you back. It is terrible--all this--and it is my doing--"
"Then, if you wish, I shall lay it up against you," cried he, gayly, "unless you promise to be Caia in my house--"
"You are unfair to press me now and by such means."
"But it must be now," exclaimed the young man, springing forward and trying to catch her in his arms. "Do you not see I must leave you at once? Shall it be without a promise?"
The blush had turned again to little anger spots, as she evaded him.
"Very well," she said slowly. "I will be Caia where thou art Caius--"
Sergius' face shone with exultation, and his lips parted.
"I will be Caia," she resumed, "upon the day when Orcus sends back the dead from Acheron."
His expression of joy faded, and indignation took its place. Surely this was carrying light speech too far--and at such a time. Suddenly he realized that the dictator might already