Petronius looked at him with astonishment, as if he wished to make sure that his head was right.
"Of whom art thou speaking?" asked he at last. "Evidently I remember Lygia."
"I am her betrothed."
"What!"
But Vinicius sprang up and called his dispensator.
"Let the slaves stand before me to the last soul, quickly!"
"Art thou her betrothed?" repeated Petronius.
But before he recovered from his astonishment the immense atrium was swarming with people. Panting old men ran in, men in the vigor of life, women, boys, and girls. With each moment the atrium was filled more and more; in corridors, called "fauces," voices were heard calling in various languages. Finally, all took their places in rows at the walls and among the columns. Vinicius, standing near the impluvium, turned to Demas, the freedman, and said,—