Part 21 (2/2)
”Certainly; here!” broke in a strange voice; and forth from behind a pillar stepped Publius Gabinius, all pomaded and rouged, dressed only in a gauzy, many-folded scarlet _synthesis_.[108]
[108] The ”dinner coat” of the Romans.
Fabia gave a scream and sprang back in instinctive alarm. In the twinkling of an eye it flashed over her that for some purpose or other she had been trapped. Gabinius she knew barely by sight; but his reputation had come to her ears, and fame spoke nothing good of him.
Yet even at the moment when she felt herself in the most imminent personal peril, the inbred dignity and composed hauteur of the Vestal did not desert her. At the selfsame instant that she said to herself, ”Can I escape through the atrium before they can stop me?” recovering from her first surprise, and with never a quiver of eyelash or a paling of cheek, she was saying aloud, in a tone cold as ice, ”And indeed, most excellent Gabinius, you must pardon me for being startled; for all that I know of you tells me that you are likely to find a sombre Vestal sorry enough company.”
Gabinius had been counting coolly on a very noisy scene, one of a kind he was fairly familiar with--an abundance of screaming, expostulation, tearing of hair, and other manifestations of feminine agony--to be followed, of course, by ultimate submission to the will of all-dominant man. He was not accustomed to have a woman look him fairly in the eye and speak in tones, not of bootless fury, but of superior scorn. And his answer was painfully lacking in the ascendant volubility which would have befitted the occasion.
”Forgive me; pardon; it was of course necessary to resort to some subterfuge in order--in order to prevent your attendants from becoming suspicious.”
Fabia cast a glance behind her, and saw that before the two doors leading to the atrium her conductor and another tall slave had placed themselves; but she replied in a tone a little more lofty, if possible, than before:--
”I cannot well, sir, understand you. Are you a friend of t.i.tus Denter, who is sick? I do not see that any subterfuge is necessary when I am to receive the deposit of a will from a dying man. It is a recognized duty of my office.”
Gabinius was still more at a loss.
”You should certainly understand, lady,” he began, cursing himself for having to resort to circ.u.mlocutions, ”that this is my own villa, and I have not the pleasure of knowing t.i.tus Denter. I sent the letter because--”
”Because, my worthy sir,” interrupted Fabia, not however raising her voice in the least, ”you are weary of Greek flute-players for sweethearts or such Roman young ladies as admire either the ointments or the pimples of your face, and consequently seek a little diversion by laying snares for a sacred Vestal.”
Gabinius at last found free use for his tongue.
”Oh, lady; Lady Fabia,” he cried, stretching out his arms and taking a step nearer, ”don't misjudge me so cruelly! I will forsake anything, everything, for you! I have nothing to dream of day or night but your face. You have served your thirty years in the Temple, and can quit its service. Why entertain any superst.i.tious scruple against doing what the law allows? Come with me to Egypt; to Spain; to Parthia; anywhere! Only do not reject me and my entreaties! I will do anything for your sake!”
Critical as was her situation, Fabia could not refrain from a sense of humour, when she saw and heard this creature--the last intimate she would select in the world--pressing his suit with such genuine pa.s.sion. When she answered, an exasperating smile was on her lips.
”By Castor!” she replied, ”the n.o.ble Gabinius is not a bad tragedian.
If he has nothing further to inform me than that I am favoured by his good graces, I can only decline his proposals with humble firmness, and depart.”
”By the immortal G.o.ds!” cried Gabinius, feeling that he and not his would-be victim were like to go into a frenzy, ”you shan't go! I have you here. And here you shall remain until I have your word that you will quit the Temple service and fly with me to Egypt. If you won't have me as your slave, I'll have you as your master!” And again he advanced.
”What restrains me here?” queried Fabia, sternly, the blood sinking from her cheeks, but by step or by glance quailing not in the least.
”Who dare restrain or offer harm to a Vestal of the Roman Republic?”
”I!” shouted Gabinius in mad defiance, with a menacing gesture.
Fabia took a step toward him, and instinctively he fell back.
”You?” she repeated, her black eyes, ablaze with the fire of a holy indignation, searching Gabinius's impure heart through and through.
”You, little man? Are you fond of death, and yet lack courage to drink the poison yourself?”
”I dare anything!” cried Gabinius, getting more and more uncontrolled.
”This is my house. These are my slaves. The high walls will cut off any screams you may utter in this court. I have you in my power. You have placed yourself in my hands by coming here. Refuse to do as I say, and a charge will be laid against you before the _pontifices_,[109]
that you have broken the vow which binds every Vestal. All the appearances will be against you, and you know what will follow then!”
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