Caesar dined apart with his two friends.

The courses went in and out.

The proconsul continued an unceasing flow of light conversation: witty comments on Roman society and fashion, scraps of literary lore, now and then a bit of personal reminiscence of Gaul.

Drusus forgot all else in the agreeable pleasure of the moment.

Presently Caesar arose and mingled with his less exalted guests; when he returned to the upper table the attendants were bringing on the beakers, and the Cisalpine provincials were pledging one another in draughts of many _cyathi_, "prosperity to the proconsul, and confusion to his enemies." Caesar took a shallow glass of embossed blue and white bas-relief work,--a triumph of Alexandrian art,--poured into it a few drops of undiluted Caecuban liquor, dashed down the potion, then dropped the priceless beaker on to the floor.
"An offering to Fortuna!" he cried, springing from his couch.