“Too darkly!” exclaimed Cinna starting up. “To be sure, you are the son of Titus Claudius. But hear me to the end. Hardly had Charicles once more put out the lamp, when I again heard a knocking at the door. Would you believe it? another message from Caesar. His gracious majesty this time sent me the fellow who had led the dance in black as a present, and begged to know how I had liked the midnight supper. By the great name of Brutus! A tipsy reveller never spurned a beggar with more utter contempt;[251] in the first burst of anger I could have flung the boy on the ground. But I recollected myself. Cornelius Cinna will never let the weapon atone for the arm that wields it....”
Nerva rose and clasped his excited and angry friend in his arms.
“Be calm,” he said in a deep voice. Then, going up to Quintus he said loftily:
“And you, noble youth, give me your right hand in pledge of silence! Not that Cornelius Cinna has said anything that need shun the light of day—but you know the danger to which freedom of speech is exposed. His indignation and bitter feeling must remain a secret....”
“A secret? and why? To-morrow I propose seeing Caesar at his great reception. I will hear from his own lips the meaning of this mysterious midnight banquet. I will insist on satisfaction for Cinna....”
“Madman, what are you thinking of?” cried Nerva horrified.
“Of my duty—rely on my discretion. Caesar owes something to me....”
“Domitian owes you something!” laughed Cinna scornfully. “Do you not know, that he hates those most who have rendered him a service? Do not I know it by my own experience?”
“It is worth trying, at any rate,” said Quintus. “But now allow me to breathe the fresh air; I am suffocating in here.” And as he spoke he unbarred the door and quitted the room.
“You must dissuade him!” said Nerva, as the door closed upon him.