head of his legions, and in the meanwhile he had by a comprehensive
and gracious act of clemency pardoned all those who had offended against
his majesty.

The noble patricians who yesterday had already deposed him, and had
called on her to name his successor, had been foiled in their ambitious
schemes by the very man whom she--Dea Flavia--would have set upon the
throne.

And once more that one all-absorbing puzzle confronted her: who and what
was this god who had exacted this all-embracing sacrifice?

She wandered somewhat aimlessly through the halls, for the great lords
were not yet ready to appear before her, and as she crossed the atrium
and went into the peristylium, looking with somewhat wistful longing
toward the open portals of the vestibule and the vista of open air and
sky from whence a breath of pure fresh air struck pleasingly on her
nostrils, she saw that in spite of the early hour a large number of the
poorer clients, suppliants at the door of the great Augusta, had already
assembled there.

Foremost amongst them was an elderly man dressed in the plain garb of a
slave, and wearing, embroidered on his tunic, the badge that proclaimed
him in the service of the praefect of Rome.

The man appeared to be very insistent, and to be receiving in
consequence, somewhat rough treatment from the janitors. Dea Flavia
turned to one of her own slaves and ordered the man to be brought to her
presence in her studio where she would receive him.

The man told the janitors that his name was Folces, that he belonged to
the praefect of Rome and desired speech with the Augusta. He walked in
very humbly, with back bent nearly double, and when he was shown into
the studio where the Augusta sat alone he fell on both knees before her.

"Thy name is Folces, I am told," she began graciously, "and thou art of
the household of the praefect of Rome?"

"I attend upon his person, gracious lady," replied the man.

"And thou hast brought me a message from him?" she asked, even as with
this hope her heart began to beat violently in her breast.

"Not from him, gracious lady," said Folces humbly, "for the praefect of
Rome is dead."

"Who told thee that he was dead?" she asked.

"Taurus Antinor named Anglicanus," replied the man simply; "he sent me
my freedom this night and a message to lay at the feet of Dea Flavia
Augusta."

"Give me the message," she said.

Still on his knees, Folces fumbled in the folds of his mantle and fro