"Thou art right," answered Lygia, "and I will follow thy advice."

How much desire to see Vinicius and Petronius there was in this resolve,
how much of woman's curiosity there was to see such a feast once in
life, and to see at it Cæsar, the court, the renowned Poppæa and other
beauties, and all that unheard-of splendor, of which wonders were
narrated in Rome, Lygia could not give account to herself of a
certainty. But Acte was right, and Lygia felt this distinctly. There
was need to go; therefore, when necessity and simple reason supported
the hidden temptation, she ceased to hesitate.

Acre conducted her to her own unctorium to anoint and dress her; and
though there was no lack of slave women in Cæsar's house, and Acte had
enough of them for her personal service, still, through sympathy for the
maiden whose beauty and innocence had caught her heart, she resolved to
dress her herself. It became clear at once that in the young Grecian,
in spite of her sadness and her perusal of the letters of Paul of
Tarsus, there was yet much of the ancient Hellenic spirit, to which
physical beauty spoke with more eloquence than aught else on earth.
When she had undressed Lygia, she could not restrain an exclamation of
wonder at sight of her form, at once slender and full, created, as it
were, from pearl and roses; and stepping back a few paces, she looked
with delight on that matchless, spring-like form.

"Lygia," exclaimed she at last, "thou art a hundred times more beautiful
than Poppæa!"

But, reared in the strict house of Pomponia, where modesty was observed,
even when women were by themselves, the maiden, wonderful as a wonderful
dream, harmonious as a work of Praxiteles or as a song, stood alarmed,