confided to Phaon, Lucius's freedman, a sly fox entirely after his
patron's own heart.

Cornelia, to whom the dinner-party at Favonius's house began as a
dreary enough tragedy, before long discovered that it was by no means
more easy to suck undiluted sorrow than unmixed gladness out of life.
It gratified her to imagine the rage and dismay of the young exquisite
whose couch was beside her chair,[93] when he should learn how
completely he had been duped. Then, too, Lucius Ahenobarbus had a
voluble flow of polite small talk, and he knew how to display his
accomplishments to full advantage. He had a fair share of wit and
humour; and when he fancied that Cornelia was not impervious to his
advances, he became more agreeable and more ardent. Once or twice
Cornelia frightened herself by laughing without conscious forcing. Yet
it was an immense relief to her when the banquet was over, and the
guests--for Favonius had ordered that none should be given enough wine
to be absolutely drunken--called for their sandals and litters and
went their ways.

[93] Women sat at Roman banquets, unless the company was of a
questionable character.

"And you, O Adorable, Calypso, Circe, Nausicaä, Medea,--what shall I
call you?--you will not be angry if I call to see you to-morrow?" said
Ahenobarbus, smiling as he parted from Cornelia.

"If you come," was her response, "I shall not perhaps order the slaves
to pitch you out heels over head."

"Ah! That is a guarded assent, indeed," laughed Lucius, "but farewell,