While I was in this mood my hostess came to chat with me. Nemestronia, at
eighty-odd, was as dainty and charming an old lady as the sun ever shone
on. And as lovable as any woman alive. I loved her dearly, as all Rome
loved her dearly, and I ranked myself high among her countless honorary
grandsons, for her motherly ways made her seem an honorary grandmother to
all young noblemen whom she favored.
After a heart-warming chat she said:
"I must go now, by Galen's orders. Before I go I want to ask you whether
you are coming here tomorrow?"
"Certainly!" I cried, looking about me with delight. "Could there, can
there, be in Rome a more Elysian spot in which to feel health being
restored to one?"
She beamed at me.
"Be sure to be here," she said. "You will not regret coming."
Between naps that afternoon and before I slept that night I soothed myself
with the hope that I was, by Nemestronia's influence, to have an interview
with Vedia.
Next morning the weather was beautiful, the sky clear, the air neither too
cool nor too warm, the breeze soft and steady. Nemestronia's water-garden
appeared to me even more delightful than the day before. I admired the
lotus trees, the water-lily pads in the pools, the jets of the fountains,
the bright strips of flowers along the pools, particularly some water-
flags or some flowers resembling water-flags.
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