fter party, outwardly trying to keep my face blank, inwardly
excited at the probability of recognizing many former friends and
acquaintances.

The first man I recognized was Faltonius Bambilio, unmistakably pompous
and self-satisfied. Although a senator he came early. Later I saw Vedius
Vedianus and, far from him, Satronius Satro. Didius Julianus, always the
most ostentatious of the senators, was unmistakable even in section B,
further from me than any part of the Circus except the left hand starting
stalls and their neighborhood.

I looked for Tanno in section D, and early made him out.

But, even after the equestrian seats and senatorial boxes had all filled,
nowhere could I descry any feminine shape at all suggestive of Vedia. I
was still peering and sweeping the senatorial seats with my eyes, hoping
to espy her, when the bugles announced the Emperor's approach and the
audience stood up. My eyes were on the Imperial Dais watching for the
appearance of the Emperor. But when he came into sight, and I joined in
the cheers, I viewed without emotion this man, who had honored me with his
favor, yet who had credited to the utmost, without investigation, my
inclusion among the number of his dangerous enemies. I reflected that no
man accused of participating in a conspiracy against any Prince of the
Republic had ever been given any sort of hearing or his friends allowed to
try to clear him.

I used all my powers of eyesight to con the Emperor, distinctive in his
official robes but too far off to be seen well. He appeared to me to have
lost something of his elegance of carriage and grace of movement. He
seemed less elastic in bearing, less springy of gait. There was, even at
that distance, something familiar in his attitude and stride, but it did
not seem precisely the presence of Commodus as I had known him. I stared
puzzled and groping in my mind. But I felt no emotion as I stared and
peered at him.

Oddly enough, from the moment when I received Vedia's letter of warning
until I caught sight of the head of the procession about to enter the
Circus through the Procession gate, I had had not one instant of
despondency or of self-pity. But, at sight of the head of that magnificent
procession, a sort of wave of misery surged through me and inundated me
with a sudden sense of wistful regret for all that I had lost and also
with an acute realization of the precarious hold I had on life, of the
peril I was in from hour to hour.