“The Vestal Maxima is departing,” an old Vestal said, touching Claudius’s shoulder. “Hermione bids me conduct you to her chamber, where her brother and her servant have watched for the last hour.”
But Claudius stood rooted to the spot. He had feared his presence might disturb the last hours of one he loved too well, to make his own wishes of any moment. He bowed and shook his head, but remained standing, watching the work of the chisel, while every letter seemed engraved in his heart.
Presently another messenger came—Hermione.
“She asks for you,” she said—“come!”
Then Claudius drew himself up to his full height, as if he were about to face some advancing host, and with head erect, and hands clasped tightly together, he followed Hermione, without uttering a word.
As they passed along the corridor of the upper storey, they met Cœlia Concordia. Hermione made the customary token of respect to the superior Vestals from those who were beneath them, and said:—
“We go to see the Vestal Maxima, who is departing.”
“The Vestal Maxima has departed already,” was the cold and haughty answer. “I have just returned from the Council, where I have been chosen as her successor in the office she quitted three days ago.”
Hermione’s dark southern eyes flashed through the mists of tears.
“The beloved lady Hyacintha, beloved of all the priestesses, is dying,” she said, “and leaves no equal behind; her name will live. It is even now inscribed upon the pedestal of her statue, beneath the words which, by the common consent of the whole Council, were written on a scroll for the sculptor, and despatched to him yester-even.”