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

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“Where, my dear boy, where do you mean?”

Pancratius pointed steadily with his hand towards the left, and said: “There, my noble Sebastian; any of those open arches of the Flavian amphitheatre, which lead to its arena; over which, not denser than the outstretched canvas which shades our spectators, is that veil of which you spoke just now. But hark!”

“That was a lion’s roar from beneath the Cœlian!” exclaimed Sebastian, surprised. “Wild beasts must have arrived at the vivarium[39] of the amphitheatre; for I know there were none there yesterday.”

“Yes, hark!” continued Pancratius, not noticing the interruption. “These are the trumpet-notes that summon us; that is the music that must accompany us to our triumph!”

Both paused for a time, when Pancratius again broke the silence, saying: “This puts me in mind of a matter on which I want to take your advice, my faithful counsellor; will your company be soon arriving?”

“Not immediately; and they will drop in one by one; till they assemble, come into my chamber, where none will interrupt us.”