Standing behind her the little Anglian slave Laetus gently
fanned her with a peacock's tail, or sprinkled her with perfume from
a vial; the air was heavy with Sabaean odours.
'Ah, here is lord Basil!' pursued Muscula with a mischievous glance
at Vivian. 'He has lived at Constantinople lately--not thirty or
forty years ago. Tell us, sweet lord'--she bent towards him with
large, rolling eyes--'was it not Helladius who won for the Greens
when Thomas the Blue was overturned and killed?'
'For all I know it may have been,' replied Basil carelessly; he had
scarce heard the question.
'I swear you are wrong, Muscula,' put in the third lady. 'The lord
Basil cares naught for such things, and would not contradict you
lest you should scratch his face--so dangerous you look, much more
like a cat than a mouse. By the beard of Holy Peter! should not
Heliodora know, who, though she is too young to remember it herself,
has heard of it many a time from her father. You think too much of
yourself, O Muscula, since you ate crumbs from the hands of Bessas.'
The boy Vivian gave a loud laugh, rolling on his cushions.
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