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Tertullus had no fortune to give him, and he seemed to have little genius to make one. To become possessed of one, however, was all-important to his mind; for wealth, as the means of gratifying his desires, was synonymous with him to supreme felicity. A rich heiress, or rather her dower, seemed the simplest object at which to aim. Too awkward, shy, and stupid to make himself a way in society, he sought other means, more kindred to his mind, for the attainment of his ambitious or avaricious desires. What these means were, his conversation with the black slave will best explain.

“I have come to meet you at the Meta Sudans again, for the fourth time, at this inconvenient hour. What news have you for me?”

“None, except that after to-morrow my mistress starts for her villa at Cajeta,[40] and of course I go with her. I shall want more money to carry on my operations in your favor.”

“More still? You have had all I have received from my father for months.”

“Why, do you know what Fabiola is?”

“Yes, to be sure, the richest match in Rome.”