POMPONIUS had hurried away from Gallus with the haste of a man, on whose steps success or ruin depended. Lost in thought, he had neither regarded the salutations of the friends who met him, nor heard the declamations of the ill-humoured Calpurnius, and had scarcely remarked that his tardy companion had separated from him at the forum transitorium, and taken the direction of the forum Romanum. Halting suddenly, he changed his rapid run into a slow and contemplative walk, then stopped still, contracting his forehead in profound reflection, and striking his hand on his breast, as if to summon forth the thoughts within. He drew himself slowly up to his full height, resting the left hand, against the hip, and with the right vehemently slapping his thigh: still no light seemed to penetrate the chaos of his ideas. He snapped his fingers fretfully, shook his head, as if he had renounced the intended errand, but presently his movements became more tranquil; and placing his hand under his chin, he appeared to hold firmly to one idea. A malicious and triumphant smile played about his mouth, as he turned suddenly and called the slave who stood at a little distance, surveying him with astonishment.

‘Hasten home immediately,’ said he, ‘bid Dromo repair without delay to the taberna of the tonsor Licinus, and await me there. But be quick.’