“Oh, dear lady, we all love you, all but that proud and haughty Cœlia.”
“She will succeed me, as Vestal Maxima,” Hyacintha said; “win her by submission, and do not irritate her by rebellion. Now let us go.”
She turned for a moment and gazed at the noble hall with its forest of Corinthian columns, and watched the white-robed Vestals following Cœlia to the porta on their way to the Circus. Memories of her first appearance at that door, clinging to Clœlia’s hand, swept over her—the child of nearly twelve years old, now the woman of mature age!
“Thirty years ago,” she whispered, “thirty years ago! Ah, little Hermione, I shall soon enter the city where time is not—no counting of years there. Come, let us begin to mount the staircase, slowly, for I have but little breath in me.”
In a state room in the upper part of the Vestals’ house the High Priest sat in solemn conclave with his subordinates, and those who might be called the Council of the order of Vesta.
It was the custom of the Vestal Maxima to demand an audience, when she had any especial business to transact, or any dereliction in duty on the part of the Vestals to report.
Hyacintha had given notice of her coming, and when she reached the upper corridor which ran round the atrium, with pillars corresponding to those below, she found a guard of honour waiting to escort her into the presence of the High Priest.
It was usual for the Vestal Maxima to be attended by two of the elder Vestals on these occasions, but many had gone to the Circus, and only Hermione was with her.
To the surprise of the guards, and of Hermione herself, the Vestal Maxima said:—
“I enter alone.” Then the curtain was raised, and Hyacintha Severa passed in.