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

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“What is that?”

“Gold.”

“And where am I to get it? it is that I seek.”

The black slave smiled maliciously, and said:

“Why cannot you get it as Fulvius does?”

“How does he get it?”

“By blood!”

“How do you know it?”

“I have made acquaintance with an old attendant that he has, who, if not as dark as I am in skin, fully makes up for it in his heart. His language and mine are sufficiently allied for us to be able to converse. He has asked me many questions about poisons, and pretended he would purchase my liberty, and take me back home as his wife; but I have something better than that in prospect, I trust. However, I got all that I wanted out from him.”

“And what was that?”

“Why, that Fulvius had discovered a great conspiracy against Dioclesian; and from the wink of the old man’s awful eye, I understood he had hatched it first; and he has been sent with strong recommendations to Rome to be employed in the same line.”

“But I have no ability either to make or to discover conspiracies, though I may have to punish them.”