Читать книгу Fabiola; Or, The Church of the Catacombs онлайн

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A Slave. From a painting in Herculaneum. A Slave. From a painting in Pompeii.

“How delighted I should be, most noble mistress,” said the black slave, “if I could only be in the triclinium[16] this evening as you enter in, to observe the brilliant effect of this new stibium[17] on your guests! It has cost me many trials before I could obtain it so perfect: I am sure nothing like it has been ever seen in Rome.”

“As for me,” interrupted the wily Greek, “I should not presume to aspire to so high an honor. I should be satisfied to look from outside the door, and see the magnificent effect of this wonderful silk tunic, which came with the last remittance of gold from Asia. Nothing can equal its beauty; nor, I may add, is its arrangement, the result of my study, unworthy of the materials.”

“And you, Syra,” interposed the mistress, with a contemptuous smile, “what would you desire? and what have you to praise of your own doing?”

“Nothing to desire, noble lady, but that you may be ever happy; nothing to praise of my own doing, for I am not conscious of having done more than my duty,” was the modest and sincere reply.