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‘Departed for Ravenna!’ cried Julia, laughing outright. ‘Oh, what a conclusion to the adventure! I confess it, Vetranio, such consequences as these are beyond all imagination!’

‘You laugh, Julia,’ returned the senator, a little piqued; ‘but hear me to the end, and you will find that I have not yet resigned myself to defeat. For the few days that I have remained here, Antonina’s image has incessantly troubled my thoughts. I perceive that my inclination, as well as my reputation, is concerned in subduing her ungrateful aversion. I suspect that my anxiety to gain her will, if unremoved, so far influence my character, that from Vetranio the Serene, I shall be changed into Vetranio the Sardonic. Pride, honour, curiosity, and love all urge me to her conquest. To prepare for my banquet is an excuse to the Court for my sudden departure from this place; the real object of my journey is Antonina alone.’

‘Ah, now I recognise my friend again in his own character,’ remarked the lady approvingly.

‘You will ask me how I purpose to obtain another interview with her?’ continued Vetranio. ‘I answer, that the girl’s attendant has voluntarily offered himself as an instrument for the prosecution of my plans. The very day before I departed from Rome, he suddenly presented himself to my in my garden, and proposed to introduce me into Numerian’s house— having first demanded, with the air more of an equal than an inferior, whether the report that I was still a secret adherent of the old religion, of the worship of the gods, was true. Suspicious of the fellow’s motives (for he abjured all recompense as the reward of his treachery), and irritated by the girl’s recent ingratitude, I treated his offer with contempt. Now, however, that my dissatisfaction is calmed and my anxiety aroused, I am determined, at all hazards, to trust myself to this man, be his motives for aiding me what they may. If my efforts at my expected interview—and I will not spare them—are rewarded with success, it will be necessary to obtain some refuge for Antonina that will neither be suspected nor searched. For such a hiding-place, nothing can be more admirably adapted than your Arician villa. Do you—now that you know for what use it is intended—repent of your generous disposal of it in aid of my design?’