Soft-footed lackeys carried viands and wines, and the table was a mingling of silver and roses.

The afternoon light came soft through the trellis, and you could not have looked for a fairer picture of settled ease.

Yet I had that in my mind which shattered the picture.

We were feasting like the old citizens of buried Pompeii, with the lava even now, perhaps, flowing hot from the mountains.

I looked at the painted faces on the walls, and wondered which I would summon to our aid if I could call men from the dead.