was calling yet in her soul, "O Lygia, save thyself!" But something
told her also that it was too late; that the one whom such a flame had
embraced as that which had embraced her, the one who had seen what was
done at that feast and whose heart had beaten as hers had on hearing the
words of Vinicius, the one through whom such a shiver had passed as had
passed through her when he approached, was lost beyond recovery. She
grew weak. It seemed at moments to her that she would faint, and then
something terrible would happen. She knew that, under penalty of
Cæsar's anger, it was not permitted any one to rise till Cæsar rose; but
even were that not the case, she had not strength now to rise.

Meanwhile it was far to the end of the feast yet. Slaves brought new
courses, and filled the goblets unceasingly with wine; before the table,
on a platform open at one side, appeared two athletes to give the guests
a spectacle of wrestling.

They began the struggle at once, and the powerful bodies, shining from
olive oil, formed one mass; bones cracked in their iron arms, and from
their set jaws came an ominous gritting of teeth. At moments was heard
the quick, dull thump of their feet on the platform strewn with saffron;
again they were motionless, silent, and it seemed to the spectators that
they had before them a group chiselled out of stone. Roman eyes
followed with delight the movement of tremendously exerted backs,
thighs, and arms. But the struggle was not too prolonged; for Croton, a
master, and the founder of a school of gladiators, did not pass in vain
for the strongest man in the empire. His opponent began to breathe more
and more quickly: next a rattle was heard in his throat; then his face
grew blue; finally he threw blood from his mouth and fell.

A thunder of applause greeted the end of the struggle, and Croton,