She contrived to push the girl out of the chamber and ordered two others to follow and look after her; then once more she turned to her mistress, ready to tender fond apologies since what she had said had so angered her beloved.
Dea Flavia had thrown herself on the couch on her back; her arms were folded behind her head, her fair hair lay in heavy masses on the embroidered coverlet. She was staring straight up at the ceiling, her blue eyes wide open, and a puzzled frown across her brow.
"My precious one," murmured Licinia.
But Dea Flavia apparently did not hear. It seemed as if she were grappling in her mind with some worrying puzzle, the solution of which lay hidden up there behind that brilliant bit of blue sky which glimmered through the square opening in the roof.
"My precious one," reiterated the old woman appealingly, "tell me, Dea—was it aught that I said which angered thee?"
Dea Flavia turned large wondering eyes to her old nurse.
"Licinia," she said slowly.
"Yes, my goddess."
"If a man saith that there is one greater, mightier than Cæsar ... he is a traitor, is he not?"
"A black and villainous traitor, Augusta," said Licinia, whose voice at the mere suggestion had become hoarse with awe.