"Was it to tell me this," she asked simply, "that the greatest of Cæsars sought his servant's house to-day?"
"In part," he rejoined curtly, "and I would hear thine answer."
"My lord has not deigned to ask a question?"
"Art prepared to accept the husband whom I, thine Emperor will choose for thee?"
"In all things do I give thee honour and reverence, O Cæsar," she replied, "but——"
"But what?"
"But I had no thought of marriage."
"No thought of marriage!" he retorted roughly as, unable to sit still, harassed by rage and doubt, he once more started on that restless walk of his up and down the room.
She watched him with great wondering eyes. That something serious lay behind his questionings was of course obvious. He had not paid her this matutinal visit for the sole purpose of passing the time of day; and she did not like this strange mood of his nor his reference to a topic over which he had not worried her hitherto.
In truth the thought of marriage had never entered her head, even though Licinia—with constant garrulousness—had oft made covert allusions to that coming time. She knew—for it had been instilled into her from every side ever since her father had left her under the tutelage of the Cæsar—that she must eventually obey him, if one day he desired that she should marry.