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‘But why is he here?’

‘He has come to Ravenna, charged with some secret message from the Senate, and has presented a rare breed of chickens to that foolish—’

‘Hush! you may be overheard!’

‘Well!—to that wise emperor of ours! Ah! the palace has been so pleasant since he has been here!’

At this instant the above dialogue—from the frivolity of which the universally-learned readers of modern times will, we fear, recoil with contempt—was interrupted by a movement on the part of its hero which showed that his occupation was at an end. With the elaborate deliberation of a man who disdains to exhibit himself as liable to be hurried by any mortal affair, Vetranio slowly folded up the vellum he had now filled with writing, and depositing it in his bosom, made a sign to a slave who happened to be then passing near him with a dish of fruit.

Having received his message, the slave retired to the entrance of the apartment, and beckoning to a man who stood outside the door, motioned him to approach Vetranio’s couch.