"The Lady Octavia is not to my liking."
"Nor I," added Aurelius, "but we must not be discourteous, she is a
good client. It will be an enjoyable feast in this fine weather.
Virgilia's cheeks are too pale. She and Martius shall go."
On the day of the Feast, Virgilia was glad to go out into the fresh
air, to leave the seamstresses busy sewing in the inner courtyard.
They were embroidering fine garments of silk so soft that it could be
drawn through a ring. They were hemming and drawing threads, draping
and cutting the rich material from Tyre which was to form part of
Virgilia's wedding outfit.
The young girl was sad on this beautiful October day when the air was
spicy with the whiffs of ripe grapes and pomegranates in the gardens
and vineyards. She was thinking of what it would mean to go away from
her home, to leave her parents and Martius, to take up another life,
and be obedient to the old Senator, who, kind and indulgent as he
might be, was, nevertheless, little more than her master, or she,
little better than one of her own slaves.
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