‘You have betrayed me, wretch!’
‘I—most bounteous lady?’ he exclaimed, starting. ‘Not a word—not a whisper, or may the gods strike me dead at your feet!’
His wavering glance wandered from her stern, penetrating eyes to the form of Zeno, who stood apart with folded arms and frowning gaze fixed upon him.
‘No—no! May the gods strike me dead at your feet!’ he repeated.
‘Enough—I shall know—and beware!’
She turned away from him feebly iterating, and without more delay entered the litter and reclined therein. The slaves lifted her up and proceeded on their way, at a pace, which was somewhat retarded by the company of her faithful attendant, who walked by her side, and without whom she refused to move one yard, in spite of all Zeno’s efforts to the contrary.
The bleak morning wore on, but was as yet young when Afer, cloaked and hooded against the raw, blustering weather, knocked at the door of Tucca’s dwelling, and demanded to see Plautia. When the grimy, greasy wine-grower explained her departure to him, with much obsequious cringing, the knight was so incredulous that he stalked into the hovel to examine for himself. Finding the state of the case to be as related, he desired to be informed whither the lady had gone.
‘I did not inquire—not I,’ said Tucca cautiously.
‘Went she alone?’
‘Well—no!’