His friend, sitting on the couch
beside him, continued in the same half-bantering tone:
'When were you last at the house of a certain disconsolate widow, on
the Quirinal?'
'What mean you?' cried the other, starting up, with sudden fury in
his eyes. 'Are you vowed with my enemies to drive me mad?'
'Not I, dear Basil; but hear the truth. Only late last night I
entered the gates of Rome, and since I rose this morning three
several persons have spoken your name to me together with that of
Heliodora.'
'They are black and villainous liars! And you, Marcian, so ready to
believe them? Tell me their names, their names!'
'Peace! One would think you mad indeed. You know the son of Opilio,
young Vivian?'
'I know him!' answered Basil scornfully, 'as I know the lousy beggar
who sits before St. Clement's Church, or the African who tumbles in
Trajan's forum.'
'Even so. This same spark of fashion stops me in the Vicus Longus.
"You are the friend of Basil," quoth he. "Give him this warning. If
ever I chance to find him near the portico of Heliodora, I will
drive my dagger into his heart," and on he struts, leaving me so
amazed that I forgot even to fetch the cub a box o' the ear.
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