so long without love." And Octavio pressed this beautiful creature to his heart, and kissed her lips: the softness of this beautiful flesh could be felt through his tunic. The band which detained her hair became unloosed, and her ebon locks spread themselves like a black sea over her lover.
The slaves had carried away the table. There was nothing to be heard except the soft murmur of their own voices, mingled with the tinkling of falling water from the fountain. The little slaves, familiar with these loving scenes, pirouetted upon the mosaic pavement.
Suddenly the portière was pushed back; and an old man of severe countenance, in an ample mantle, stood in the entrance. His gray beard was separated into two points like the Nazarene's, and his face was seamed and lined; a little cross of black wood hung from his neck, and left no doubt as to his belief: he belonged to the sect, quite recent at that time, called the "Disciples of Christ."
Upon seeing him, Arria Marcella seemed covered with confusion, and hid her face under the folds of her mantle, like a bird who puts his head under his wing when he sees an enemy whom he cannot avoid; while Octavio leaned upon his elbow, and looked fixedly at the scowling personage who entered so brusquely upon them.
"Arria, Arria!" said the stern-looking man in a tone of reproach, "was your life not sufficient for your misbehaviors, and must your infamous loves encroach upon the centuries which do not belong to you? Can you not leave the living in their sphere? Has not your body had time to cool since the day in which you died, without repenting, under the ashes of the volcano? Your two thousand years of death have not calmed you; and your voracious arms draw to your cold breast, from which your heart has disappeared, the poor insane beings intoxicated by your philtres."
"Pardon, my father: do not crush me in the name of this gloomy religion in which I never believed. I believe in our ancient gods, who loved life, youth, beauty, pleasure. Do not send me back into the shades. Leave me to enjoy this life which love has given to me."
"Be quiet, impious girl! Do not speak to me of your gods, who are really demons. Leave this young man, enchained by your affections, by your seductions; do not hold him longer outside the realms of his life, of which God has fixed the bounds; return to your paganism, to your Asiatic lovers, Roman or Greek. — Young Christian, abandon this phantom, who would seem more hideous to you than Empouse and Phorkyas if you could see her as she is."
Octavio, cold and frigid with horror, tried to speak; but the words would not leave his lips.
"Will you obey me, Arria?" cried the old man imperiously.
"No, never!" replied Arria, her eyes flashing; and with dilated nostrils and trembling lips, she threw her arms around Octavio, and pressed him to her cold breast. Her furious beauty, exasperated by the struggle, seemed almost supernatural at this supreme moment, as though to leave her young lover an ineffaceable souvenir of her presence.
"Come, unhappy girl," replied the old man, "I must use stronger means, and show this fascinated boy that you are but a phantom, a shadow;" and he pronounced in a commanding voice a
