once, with an abruptness which moved his companion's surprise, he
made an inquiry, seemingly little relevant to their topic.

'Heard you ever of a Gothic princess--a lady of the lineage of
Theodoric--still living in Italy?'

'Never,' responded Decius, with a puzzled smile. 'Is there such a
one?'

'I am told so--I heard it by chance. Yet I know not who she can
be. Did not the direct line of Theodoric end with Athalaric and his
sister Matasuntha, who is now at the Emperor's court?'

'So I believed,' said Decius, 'though I have thought but little of
the matter.'

'I too, trust me,' let fall Basil, with careful carelessness; no
actor he. 'And the vile Theodahad--what descendants did he leave?'

'He was a scholar,' said the other musingly, 'deep read in Plato.'

'None the less a glutton and a murderer and a coward, who did well
to give his throat to the butcher as he ran away from his enemies.
Children he had, I think--but--'

Basil broke off on a wandering thought. He stood still, knitted his
brows, and sniffed the air. At this moment there appeared in the
alley a serving man, a young and active fellow of very honest
visage, who stood at some yards' distance until Basil observed him.