"Thou hast said that thou art no writer of verses," said Vinicius,
looking at the middle of tile manuscript; "but here I see prose thickly
interwoven with them."

"When thou art reading, turn attention to Trimalchion's feast. As to
verses, they have disgusted me, since Nero is writing an epic. Vitelius,
when he wishes to relieve himself, uses ivory fingers to thrust down his
throat; others serve themselves with flamingo feathers steeped in olive
oil or in a decoction of wild thyme. I read Nero's poetry, and the
result is immediate. Straight-way I am able to praise it, if not with a
clear conscience, at least with a clear stomach."

When he had said this, he stopped the litter again before the shop of
Idomeneus the goldsmith, and, having settled the affair of the gems,
gave command to bear the litter directly to Aulus's mansion.

"On the road I will tell thee the story of Rufinus," said he, "as proof
of what vanity in an author may be."

But before he had begun, they turned in to the Vicus Patricius, and soon
found themselves before the dwelling of Aulus. A young and sturdy
"janitor" opened the door leading to the ostium, over which a magpie
confined in a cage greeted them noisily with the word, "Salve!"

On the way from the second antechamber, called the ostium, to the atrium
itself, Vinicius said,--"Hast noticed that thee doorkeepers are without
chains?" "This is a wonderful house," answered Petronius, in an
undertone. "Of course it is known to thee that Pomponia Græcina is
suspected of entertaining that Eastern superstition which consists in