Catullus (to himself).—And they did not lie either.
Metellus.—And that angered old jealous Terentia, the wife of Cicero—so now Cicero had to testify against his old friend Clodius—understand?
Catullus.—Not fully.
Metellus.—When you marry—you will. These women are awful! Fancy it! The other day, Gellius said that every husband—every one, he said, is duped and deceived by his wife—what say you about it?
Catullus (with an ironical smile).— Nothing at all, consul.
Metellus.—Not I, of course, that’s self-understood. I told him, and they all agreed with me, that I am not. No, sir! I drink my wine unmixed—ha—ha. That was excellent wit, that was, Gaius Valerius. (He laughs and drinks; wants to rise, but overcome by wine, sinks back into the seat.) I must tell this comparison at home—they’ll have a good laugh about it. But here I talk and talk and forget the purpose of my call.
Catullus.—I am anxious to hear it.
Metellus.—This morning I bought a little present for Clodia, a young slave from the Syrian dealer, Persistrates. I wanted to surprise her.
Catullus (to himself).— And enjoy yourself.
Metellus.—We told him to bring her to the house of Cæsar, and we would all look her over.
Catullus (to himself).—Poor girl! (Loudly.) Yes, and
Metellus.—And we waited over at Cæsar’s, and waited, and drank and drank
Catullus (to himself).— So much the better.
Metellus (he is speaking more and more sleepily and slowly).—And the slave dealer does not come—no—no—hour after hour—no slave dealer—then he comes alone—face like a red beet—the fool! She escaped him
Catullus.— What can I do about it?
Metellus.—He blurted out that she ran into your house, Gaius Valerius—here into your house. Gellius wanted to call
