“Fear?” retorted Quintus. “I am not a girl, to go into fits in a thunder-storm. What I resolve on I carry out to the end, though the end be death! Besides, I know full well, that your favors bloom in secret places—as silent and as harmless as the roses in a private garden.”
Domitia turned pale.
“And what do you mean by that?” she asked shuddering.
“You live far away from Caesar, your husband; you are served by spies; your palace is a labyrinth with a hundred impenetrable chambers....”
“Indeed!” said Domitia, controlling her excitement. “But still, I saw you start. What dismayed you so much, if it was not the suspicion of danger?”
“You know,” answered the young man hesitating, “that I am one of those who are ranked as Caesar’s friends.[95] A friend—though merely an official friend—cannot betray the man he is bound to defend.”
Domitia laughed loudly.
“Fine speeches, on my word!” she exclaimed scornfully. “Friendship, for the executioner who cuts your head off! Fidelity to a bloodthirsty ruffian! No, Quintus—I know better. You are staunch, but not from fidelity—from prudence!”
Quintus struck his breast proudly with his hand.
“You force me,” he said, “to speak the truth, in spite of my desire to spare you. You must know then, that Quintus Claudius thinks better of himself than to stoop to be the successor of an actor!”