off the golden tiara they had been plaiting into her hair,
tore away the rings, bracelets, necklaces, and flung herself upon the
pillows of the divan, quivering with sobs. She did not know of a
single friend who could help her. All the knowledge that she had
imbibed taught her that there was no God either to hear prayer, or
succour the wronged. Her name would become a laughing-stock and a
hissing, to be put on a par with Clodia's or that of any other
frivolous woman, unless she not merely gave up the man she loved, but
also threw herself into the arms of the man she utterly hated. The
craving for any respite was intense. She was young; but for the
moment, at least, life had lost every glamour. If death was an endless
sleep, why not welcome it as a blessed release? The idea of suicide
had a grasp on the ancient world which it is hard at first to
estimate. A healthy reaction might have stirred Cornelia out of her
despair, but at that instant the impulse needed to make her commit an
irrevocable deed must have been very slight. But while she lay on the
pillows, wretched and heart-sick, the voice of Agias was heard
without, bidding the maids admit him to their mistress.

"Stay outside. I can't see you now," moaned poor Cornelia, feeling
that for once the sight of the good-humoured, vivacious slave-boy
would be maddening. But Agias thrust back the curtains and boldly
entered. What he said will be told in its due time and place; but the
moment he had gone Cornelia was calling in Cassandra, and ordering the
maids to dress her with all possible speed for the dinner-party.

"I must be all smiles, all enchantments," she was saying to herself.
"I must dissemble. I must win confidences. I must do everything, and
anything. I have no right to indulge in grief any longer. Quintus's
dear life is at stake!"

II

Lentulus did not go to the banquet of Favonius, to see the unwonted
graciousness with which his niece received the advances of Lucius
Ahenobarbus, Neither was Favonius himself present at his own
entertainment. They, and several others of the high magnates of their
party, had been called away by an urgent summons, and spent the
evening in secluded conference with no less a personage than Pompeius,
or as he dearly loved to be called, "the Magnus," in his splendid
palace outside the walls on the Campus Martius. And here the conqueror
of Mithridates--a stout, soldierly man of six-and-fifty, whose best
quality was a certain se