"I have seen the Cæsar, and I like him. Quite young, fair as flax,
with a good-natured, fat face. But, as you say, what crimes are
committed nowadays! what crimes indeed! Why one can't put one's nose
outside the door without danger."
"Ah, that's nothing to do with Cæsar! it's his wife, Constantia, the
old witch, that does it!"
But strange personages came near the knot of talkers and thrust
themselves forward, as if desiring to take part in the conversation.
If the kitchen firelight had been brighter, it would have been noticed
that their faces were begrimed and their clothes fouled and torn like
those of stage-beggars; and notwithstanding their raggedness the
hands of these persons were fine and white, and their nails pared and
crimsoned. One of them whispered in his comrade's ear--
"Listen, Agamemnon; here also they're talking about Cæsar."
He whom they called Agamemnon appeared to be drunk. He wore a beard,
which was too thick and long to be natural, and gave him the aspect of
a fantastic brigand. His eyes were debonair, almost boyish, and of a
bright blue. His friends frequently pulled him back, muttering--
"Now then be careful!"