so strangely with his blue eyes that the blood stiffened in the veins of the young man; then he took his queen on his arm, and walked out of the triclinium with an even, quiet step.
Acte in that moment went after him.
Vinicius sat for the twinkle of an eye as if petrified; then he sprang up and ran toward the entrance, crying,—
"Lygia! Lygia!"
But desire, astonishment, rage, and wine cut the legs from under him. He staggered once and a second time, seized the naked arm of one of the bacchanals, and began to inquire, with blinking eyes, what had happened. She, taking a goblet of wine, gave it to him with a smile in her mist-covered eyes.
"Drink!" said she.
Vinicius drank, and fell to the floor.
The greater number of the guests were lying under the table; others were walking with tottering tread through the triclinium, while others were sleeping on couches at the table, snoring, or giving forth the excess of wine. Meanwhile, from the golden network, roses were dropping and dropping continually on those drunken consuls and senators, on those drunken knights, philosophers, and poets, on those drunken dancing damsels and Patrician ladies, on that society all dominant as yet but with the soul gone from it, on that society garlanded and ungirdled but perishing.
Dawn had begun out of doors.
