"And the Cæsar?" he said. "Where is the Cæsar?"
"He hath fled like a coward. Let him be forgotten even whilst the people proclaim thee the Cæsar and a new era of happiness doth rise over Rome."
Then as he made no reply she continued more hurriedly, more insistently:
"There are those here in my house now who would be the first to acclaim thee as the Cæsar. The praetorian guard, fired by thy valour yesterday, sickened by the cowardice of Caligula, is ready to follow in their wake, whilst mine will be the joy of calling unto the whole city of Rome: 'Citizens, behold your Cæsar! He is here!'"
She would not tell him that the imperium should come to him only through her hands; a strange reticence seemed to choke these words in her throat. Anon he would know. Caius Nepos and the others would tell him, but it was so sweet to give so much and—as the giver—to remain unknown.
She made a quick movement now, half withdrawing her hand from his arm, but his firm grasp closed swiftly over it.
"No, no," he said, "take not thy touch from off my soul lest I sink into an abyss of degradation."
He kept her slender fingers rivetted against his arm, and she looked up at him a little frightened, for his words sounded strange and there was a wild look in his eyes. She remembered suddenly that he was sick and that a brief while ago fever had fired his brain. All her womanly tenderness surged up at sight of his drawn face.
"Thou art ill!" she said gently.
He fell on his knees, and still holding her hand he rested his forehead against the cool white fingers.