kind of man whose servants are devotedly attached to him. He knew it.
He noticed sullenness already in the answers his servant gave him
through the litter curtains, when he asked whether the man knew their
destination.

"None knows. All I know is, we must follow Marcia."

The slave's voice was almost patronizing. Livius made up his mind, if
he should live the day out, to sell the rascal to some farmer who would
teach him with a whip what service meant. But he said nothing. He
preferred to spring surprises, only hoping he himself might not be
overwhelmed in one.

By the time they reached Cornificia's house he was in such a state of
nervousness, and so blanched, that he had to summon his servant into the
litter to rub cosmetic on his cheeks. He took one of Galen's famous
strychnine pills before he could prevent his limbs from trembling. Even
so, when he rolled out of the litter and advanced with his courtliest
bow to escort Marcia into the house, she recognized his fear and mocked
him:

"You are bilious? Or has some handsomer Adonis won your Venus from you?
Is it jealousy?"

He pretended that the litter-bearers needed whipping for having shaken
him. It made him more than ever ill at ease that she should mock him
before all the slaves who grouped themselves in Cornificia's forecourt.
Hers was one of those houses set back from the street, combining an air
of seclusion with such elegance as could not possibly escape the notice
of the passer-by. The forecourt was adorned with statuary and the gate