It was late in the afternoon, when Cornelia woke from her swoon-like sleep. She felt crushed and racked in every limb, and her head ached madly. She rose and went into the next room. The slave-girls were gone, and in the inner room she heard a clatter as of laying the table. She opened the door, and saw the two girls busy, with two Nubians dressed in yellow, in arranging a supper with costly Murrhina vessels, cups, wine-jugs, and flower-vases. The five-branched lamp that hung from the ceiling was lighted, and she could see that the walls were colored bright-red, while beautiful figures of the gods, each a masterpiece, stood out from this strong background. All the furniture was of pure silver, richly and tastefully wrought; particularly the couches, which were of fine incised work, and covered with sky-blue cushions.

As she stood there a trap-door opened in the marble floor—the head and shoulders of a slave came up through it, and a fresh load of flowers, just gathered, were taken from him by the two slave-girls.

“What does all this mean?” asked Cornelia.

“It means, my pretty one,” said a voice in Greek, close at her elbow, “that it is nearly supper-time, and that Caesar will do you the great honor of permitting you to eat at the same table with himself.”

She turned round, and before her, in full dress, stood Parthenius.

“Such a favor is quite unmerited,” said Cornelia, summoning up all her courage. “I am wearied, worn out, almost too ill....”

“Oh! the presence of the sovereign works wonders. Be fresh and gay, Cornelia. True wisdom is at home everywhere. Only children and old men pout to get their own way.”

“But do you consider of what crime I am accused? Caesar derogates from his majesty, by sitting at table with a criminal.”

“Oh! but clemency is the prerogative of the crown. One word from the sovereign wipes out any crime.”

He nodded significantly, and went back into the outer room. Cornelia stood at if rooted to the spot; but presently, recovering her presence of mind, she rushed after Parthenius. She threw herself on the ground before him, and clasped his knees.

“Let me go, take me away again—back to prison—straight to execution—wherever you will; only away from that hated presence, that hideous fate! Have pity, have mercy, Parthenius.”

The courtier shrugged his shoulders.

“You take the matter too hardly,” he said, raising her politely. “Be brave, and divest yourself of all prejudice. The situation is a simple one. Your lover has fallen under the law; what then can you lose, by raising the veil of maidenly coyness a little? Moreover, a thoughtless speech has placed you in a position to fear unpleasant consequences. These of course will be spared, if you show yourself amenable to—reason. Nay, if for old attachment’s sake, you feel any strong desire to save that perverse Quintus Claudius from the last extremity, even in this—I am well assured—Caesar’s clemency may be easily obtained if—of course.... You understand.”

At every word, that Parthenius spoke, Cornelia turned colder and paler. The choice, then, that lay before her was between the last disgrace, that could befall a woman and a Roman—and the death of the man she loved, ah! so passionately. Both were alike unbearable—and now, as this was borne in upon her consciousness, she felt clearly that a third alternative must at any risk be attempted—even if it were the maddest ever dreamed of by mortal creature. And for that she must gain time; she must detain Caesar, put him off, seem to fall into his horrible trap, deceive him, entangle him.—Some good genius would suggest to her how, where, and when the chance for safety offered. Despair is so ingenious, and makes us so cool, so steady, so keen-sighted.

Parthenius supposed that Cornelia’s calm reflections were the result of his worldly-wise harangue.“Yes, my child,” he went on, “that is how matters stand, and you will do well to reckon with the factors as they are given you. Do you think you know Rome, my good Cornelia? Nay—you only know the narrow, cross-grained, little world, that your uncle chose you should see. If you had eyes for all that goes on round you, you would make no difficulties. Did not Julia enjoy the most splendid position, although her connection with Caesar was a breach of morals, as it is called? Is there anywhere in good society a single married woman, who has not a dozen of lovers? And do the clients and slaves bow less low before her? Men must live their lives.”

Cornelia’s heart sickened in loathing of the man, but she looked him steadily in the face.

“What?” she asked with affected innocence; “would it, do you think, be no sin before the gods...?”

“The gods! What are the gods? Are you afraid of the image you stitch into linen with colored yarn? And what you call the gods are just such images, in the web of human culture. Children are frightened at them, when you show them the bogie for the first time....”

These were the very thoughts, that had passed through Cornelia’s mind a score of times during the last few days. How was it then, that this confirmation from the chamberlain’s lips sounded so revolting? How was it, that the courtier’s utterance of them almost roused her to denial, and that her heart refused to ratify the conclusions, which her reason had so lately approved?

But she had no time for these reflections. She must play a part—the part of a yielding, over-persuaded victim. She shuddered with hatred and disgust as she thought of it, but there was no choice.

“Ah!” she sighed. “Caesar’s commands would not have terrified me half so much, if it had not been for the recollection—I do not know whether you heard—Barbillus, that mean trickster....”

Of course she knew that Parthenius had long since been fully informed of all that had taken place in the sanctuary of Isis; otherwise how should Caesar have employed him to prepare the way for his own coming? But she affected innocence so skilfully, that the courtier was deceived.

“Yes, yes,” he said; “I know all about it.”

“Then you can understand, that I must have been frightened. If Caesar had not been so violent, if Barbillus had not so cruelly betrayed my confidence. I am sure—things might have been different.”

Parthenius smirked affably. “Well, well; all is well that ends well. This may be set right yet. I am truly delighted to find, that the account Caesar gave me of your obstinacy was exaggerated.”

“I, obstinate?” sighed Cornelia with the expression of a baby of ten. “Far from it. I love nothing so much as peace and quietness. But, you see—I am afraid of Caesar.”

As she said it, it sounded too helplessly foolish; but Parthenius, enchanted at his success, did not notice that she overacted the part.

“You little simpleton,” he said kindly. “Do not be uneasy. I will give him a hint. It is plain to any man, that a lily must be plucked with greater care than a cabbage. Though he likes cabbage now and then, does our gracious sovereign,” he added with a laugh.Parthenius carried on this strange conversation some little time longer. Then, hearing steps outside, he signed to Cornelia to withdraw into the middle room, while he himself went to the entrance. He threw the door wide open, for it was the Emperor, followed by his favorite slave, little Phaeton who, by reason of his tender years, was reckoned as nobody in such circumstances. Domitian wore a long and ample lacerna, and had drawn the hood over his face. When the door was closed behind him, he threw off the wrap, and stood in a short-sleeved tunic of colored flowered stuff, with a gold fillet round his thin hairs, smiling mysteriously at the chamberlain.

“Well?” he said, glancing round the room.

“All promises for the best, my lord! The fair one is by no means the monster you imagine. It was only the sudden fright, that turned her brain that evening. I have found her quite reasonable, most reasonable; and if the sight of your majesty does not prove too much for her again, I venture to predict....” A smile ended the sentence.

“You are a finished master in all affairs of gallantry,” said Caesar. “Ovid himself might take a lesson from you. But where is she, the lovely, aggravating Fury, who handled the lord of the universe with such rough defiance? Tell me now, Parthenius: Am I not infinitely kind? Is not my condescension far beyond everything you ever heard of? I might have snatched the fruit of the Hesperides by force, and I resign myself to wait till it drops into my lap, beguiled by all the arts of love. It is a stroke of genius, a refinement...! If it comes to the worst—of course—but you say you are sure.”“I am sure you have only to be yourself, to be certain of victory.”

Cornelia overheard this dialogue, and she involuntarily made a gesture as if to throttle the hateful man, and she only resumed her indifferent air just in time, for at this moment the chamberlain raised the curtain, and in the next instant Domitian and Cornelia stood face to face.

For some minutes the Emperor found no words. The presence of the noble girl, whom he now had so completely in his power, seemed to have deprived him of his presence of mind. He was deeply conscious, that this queenly Cornelia was no every-day quarry, and that few women in all Rome could compare with her for beauty.

“To-day you will be my guest, fair Cornelia,” he said at last, taking a step towards her. “Your crime is wiped out—for our clemency is boundless. In return I ask but one thing: a happy smile and a few kindly glances from those divine eyes. Will you grant me these, Cornelia? It is your sovereign, who sues to you?”

“My lord,” said Cornelia, “I will try.”

“You are as gracious as Amathusia![104] Well, to-day Parthenius will share our meal—but to-morrow—to-morrow, say, beloved one—you will receive me alone?”

“I will try,” repeated Cornelia, looking down.

Parthenius threw a triumphant glance at Domitian, a glance that seemed to expect some acknowledgment of the superior skill, which had so quickly converted the coy maiden into a docile child. And Caesar vouchsafed him a hasty nod. Then he took Cornelia by the hand, and, with an air of repulsive gallantry, led her into the little triclinium, where the slaves had by this time made everything ready. Caesar took his place on the middle couch, with Parthenius on his left hand, and Cornelia on his right. As each couch was intended to accommodate three persons, this arrangement placed them at some distance apart; a respectful distance, which Domitian intended as a sort of atonement for his vehemence on the former occasion. They had no one to serve them but the two slave-girls, helped by Phaeton.

Cornelia had eaten nothing the whole day, and the dishes before her were the choicest productions of that great artist, Euphemus. Nevertheless she could hardly force herself to swallow a mouthful. Her throat seemed to close; her terrors increased every instant, and to give herself some courage, she emptied the gold cup of strong Falernian twice or three times.

Perhaps it was from a kindred feeling, that Caesar carried the goblet to his lips oftener than usual.—Gentle and humble as the beautiful girl seemed, who reclined there on the pillows, now and again he saw, in fancy, the haughty and indignant heroine.—It was not till he had drunk deeply, and the Falernian began to warm his blood, that he found some of the flattering phrases of a wooer. By degrees his eloquence grew freer and readier. He enlarged on the all-conquering might of beauty, before which even the gods themselves must bow; he dilated in rhetorical flights on the charms of a country life—asked for no greater happiness than to marry the vine with the elm,[105] to wield the harrow, the plough, and the pruning hook, and to live on fresh figs with honey and goat’s milk. A few cups more, and his ecstatic mood had sunk to amorous melancholy. He spoke of the solitude of a throne, the aching void of a heart that beats unsatisfied even when nearing the grave; of “black care,” which incessantly hovers round a crowned head.

All this mawkish sentimentality, so ill-becoming the furrowed face stamped with the traces of the lowest vices, put the finishing touch to Cornelia’s utter loathing. She almost repented not having frankly betrayed her aversion, in spite of every danger, and boldly faced death rather than submit to the approaches of this revolting reprobate. But the thought of Quintus kept her resolution up.

A newer and heavier wine now sparkled in the cups. Caesar drank it unmixed with water, and the color took a deeper dye in his bald and polished forehead—the golden circlet had slipped backwards, his eyes were half shut, and he spoke thickly. He raised himself slowly and unsteadily from his couch.

“Your health, sweet Cor ... Cornelia,” he stammered, supporting himself with his left hand against the table, while his right hand held the goblet. “I am happy to think that Aphrodite has touched your heart to kindness.”

He went towards her, and laid his hand on her round, white arm. She shuddered, but she kept still. Her mind was made up to endure to the very last limits of endurance, and then to cast off the mask of submission, and defend herself with all the strength of desperation. She hastily glanced at the side-table, where the slaves had set down the dishes; she hoped to see a carving-knife, but in vain. All the meat had come up ready carved[106] through the trap-door. There was no weapon available but the gold cup with its heavy foot—or, in the last extremity, Bryonia’s terrible little vial.

“Cornelia,” he continued, still grasping her arm, “we anger the gods, if we scorn their gifts—and to-day—now—I feel so bright, so well, so happy—the present smiles on me.—Cornelia, speak....”

Cornelia made a hasty movement, and freed her arm from his clutch; he tottered.

“It is suffocatingly hot!” he said, looking up at the lamp. “Air—give me air! Only for an instant. Parthenius, give me your arm as far as the balcony![107] the wine has bewildered me—or happiness—joy.... Come, Parthenius. Only for five minutes, and then, sweet Cornelia, one last cup to consecrate our meeting.”

The chamberlain led him slowly away. Cornelia gazed after them like one dazed. Her face was bloodless. All the misery that this man had heaped upon her head, seemed to rise before her mind in that fearful moment: the relentless law to which Quintus was a victim, the exile of her venerated uncle, and the crushing, maddening disgrace which threatened her even now.

She looked round her; the two slaves were standing with their backs to the table, and Phaeton had quitted the room.

The next instant something bright sparkled in her trembling fingers; it was the phial she had received from the old woman. Just in front of her, full almost to the brim, stood the Emperor’s goblet. She bent forward and poured the contents of the phial, all but a few drops, into the purple wine. But at the same instant she started back with a loud scream; before her, in the door-way, she saw Phaeton’s pale face: he had seen all.

The lad did not utter a word. He stared at the wine-cup as if paralyzed at the sight. A minute or two later Domitian and Parthenius returned. The Emperor went to his couch, without observing that Cornelia was lying half-senseless on hers. He was on the point of taking up the cup once more, and still the terrified boy found no utterance—but suddenly a shrill cry of anguish broke from him, and he threw himself at Caesar’s feet.

“Do not drink, my lord!” he cried, wringing his hands. “The wine is poisoned. She, there—look! She still has the phial in her hand!”

Domitian had turned ashy-pale; it was only too evident that the boy spoke the truth.

“The guard! call the guard!” he shrieked in the voice of an old hag; his teeth chattered, and his jaw dropped.

“Is it true,” Parthenius said, as Cornelia slowly pulled herself up, “what this boy says...?”

“Yes,” she said with quivering lips. “I did what every woman, who deserves to be a Roman, would have done in my place. My honor is a thousand times more precious than that wretch’s life!”

Phaeton had flown into the corridor to fetch the guard. That instant of respite gave Cornelia time to lift the poisoned goblet to her lips. But before she had tasted it, Parthenius sprang upon her, and, with an adroit twist, spilt the contents of the cup.

“Serpent!” snarled Caesar, “you will not get off so cheaply, do not fancy it.”

“Oh! she will soon find out, that Caesar’s wrath postpones death till life has paid its utmost penalty!” said Parthenius. “From Caesar’s arms to the rack and scaffold—that is your fate, audacious murderess.”

“Here come the praetorians! Away with her! Throw her into chains. The governor of the prisons shall answer for it with his head, if she lays hand upon herself.”

Cornelia was more dead than alive. The soldiers bound her hands behind her back, and carried her half-fainting, out of the room.

“You did well, Phaeton,” said the Emperor, who was completely sobered by the shock. “Here, take this cup, which was so near being my death—I will give it to you in perpetual memory of the event. Henceforth you shall never quit my side, for eyes like yours do good service in these treasonable times.”

The lad humbly kissed his hand.

“You put me to shame, my lord,” he said steadfastly. “I only did my duty, and deserve no praises.”

“Only your duty!” echoed Domitian. “Then you are superior to all the millions, who own my sway. The world is rotten, rotten at the core—it must crumble into dust.—Come now, you two who are faithful. Take me away from this scene of murder.—Abandoned, mad wretch!”

“Do not let it weigh too heavily on your mind,” said Parthenius. “Women often have such crazes. If once a girl has taken it into her head, that she must guard her honor.... The greatest triumph you could now achieve, and the best punishment for the crime she dared to attempt, would be cold-blooded mockery and compulsion....”

“The gods forbid!” cried Domitian in horror. “The woman is a demon. She would be quite capable of strangling me in her arms, or setting her teeth in my throat under pretence of a kiss. No, Parthenius, I renounce all pretensions to such flowers as these. Henceforth I acknowledge no claim but that of justice. Punishment, the extremest punishment, torment for body and soul, and a cruel death—these must be the retribution for such a crime. And that Quintus Claudius—it was for his sake she aimed the blow at my sacred head—he too shall feel what it is to have the sovereign of the world for his enemy.”