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There each had her writing desk, and the cabinets in which she kept her important papers, letters and such possessions. After they had exchanged greetings Lutorius motioned towards Brinnaria's little sanctum. Brinnaria bridled. "I've nothing to say that we cannot say out here," she advertised, "and I do not want to hear anything that cannot be said out here." Lutorius was tactful and had his way.
Going to the Amphitheatre, in itself, was a soul-stirring experience. Meffia, to Brinnaria's joy, had been on duty that day, along with Numisia. This alone was enough to put Brinnaria in a good humor. Meffia's presence spoiled for her any sort of pleasure.
It contained no statue, nor any other object of worship, except in the center of its floor the circular altar on which burned the sacred fire, solemnly extinguished and ceremonially rekindled on each first of March, the New Year's day of the primitive Roman Calendar, but which must never at any other time be permitted to go out, upon whose continual burning depended the prosperity of Rome, according to the belief implicitly held by all Romans from the earliest days until Brinnaria's time, and for centuries after.
Brinnaria's playing on the water-organ was similar to the piano music of a modern girl who has mostly taught herself and who plays largely by ear; Terentia played it as a born genius in our days plays her piano, with impeccable exactitude, inimitable individuality and compelling charm.
As she poured in the next dipper-load, the film of water touched the rim of the sieve at one point. Commodus heard a sharp intake of Brinnaria's breath. The next half-ladleful she poured near the spot where the water touched the sieve-rim. Round near the hoop she dribbled in half-ladleful after half-ladleful until the web of the sieve was entirely covered.
Her father smiled, a menacing smile "Perhaps not," he said, "but there will be only one alternative. Unless you agree to obey me I shall go at once to the Pontifex and offer you for a Vestal." Every trace of apprehension vanished from Brinnaria's expression. She grinned saucily, almost impudently, at her father, and snapped her fingers in his face.
Then she resolutely examined room after room. The second floor took a long while, for there were many doors to open and close for the last time. There was a third floor, a feature possessed by few dwellings in Rome in ancient times. The Imperial Palace, which later towered to even seven stories, was unique in Brinnaria's time, in the possession of five superposed floors.
The only color in the picture was to the left of the tank and close to it, where there had been set a big armchair upholstered in blue tapestry. In it sat a tall, fair-haired, curly-headed lad, with merry blue eyes. He wore a robe of pale green, the green of young onion tops. Against that green the red of Brinnaria's gown showed strident and glary, for Brinnaria was sitting on his lap.
A shield and a b-b-battle-axe are handed to each. Then they wait for the word of the Dictator of Aricia. At the word they fight. "That is the other way to challenge the K-K-King of the G-G-Grove." Flexinna, as generally happened, had been shown at once up to Brinnaria's private apartment and had walked straight into Brinnaria's bedroom. In that small room they sat facing each other.
IN recognition of Brinnaria's complete and incontrovertible vindication Commodus decreed an unusually sumptuous state banquet at the Palace, inviting to it all the most important personages of the capital, including the more distinguished senators, every magistrate, the higher Pontiffs, the Flamens in a body and most of his personal cronies.
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