Brinnaria knew that she had won, that Aurelius had put her
to the test before all Rome, that she had stood the test, that
all Rome was witness. Her fingers clutched the handle of
her fan. She could hardly feel it in her grasp.

The big man took his foot from Almo's chest.

The audience broke into howls of applause, gust after gust
of cheers, roaring like a storm wind in a forest.

Brinnaria saw the arena, saw the spectators, through a film
of mist, through a gray veil, through a fog of blackness. She
realized that, for the first time in her life, she was on the verge
of fainting. Mechanically she looked about her. Her glance fell
on Meffia crumpled in her arm-chair.

That steadied her. If Meffia had fainted, she would not, she
would not.

She did not faint. She fanned herself steadily as she watched
the lanistas help Almo to hobble from the arena. When he was
gone her attention returned to Meffia. Gargilia and Numisia
were trying to rouse her.

She remained crumpled, she collapsed, she slid off her chair
to the floor of the box. She lay in a horrid heap unmistakable
in its limpness. The excitement had been too much for Meffia.
She was stone dead.