Time was precious, and the next few moments would satisfy her wonderment. She longed to see the fire of ambition light up his earnest face: the glow of love smouldering in his eyes would render their glance exquisitely sweet.
But for the moment she would have liked to put the more serious issues off for a while, she would have liked to sit here for many hours to come, with him close by at her feet, her ears pleasantly tickled by his gentle words of bold admiration yet profound respect. Had he not said that she was made to gladden the heart of those on whom her glance did rest? And a sense of sadness had crept into her heart as he thus spoke, for memory had conjured up before her mind the miseries which had followed in her wake these few days past.
"I have brought naught but misery," she said with a sigh, "to those whom I would bless."
"Joy to me, Augusta," he rejoined earnestly, "since the day I first beheld thee."
"Menecreta is dead," she whispered; "dost remember?"
"I remember."
She paused a while, then said abruptly:
"And the Cæsar is a fugitive."
"Heavens above!" he exclaimed, and the whole expression of his face changed suddenly; "a fugitive?... when?... where...?"
"The people are wrathful against him," she said; "they surrounded his palace, and even...."