Then they went to table. The first dish had been handed round, the first cup was emptied—Lycoris was still with the prisoner. At last Stephanus sent a messenger, who returned with an indefinite answer. A quarter of an hour slipped by; the steward was growing impatient. He sent a second messenger, who, to his great astonishment, brought back the reply that Lycoris felt ill, and begged to be excused if she did not join them in the triclinium.
Stephanus started to his feet. What nonsense was this? Did this saucy jade take him for a fool? or was she making common cause with the foe? Who could tell whether this private meeting with Eurymachus had not been instigated by Parthenius? After all that Stephanus had heard from Clodianus, there was nothing he might not expect at the hands of the wire-puller at the Palatium....
He excused himself to his guests with a jest, and hastened to the room where he had left Lycoris. What was his astonishment at finding the young Massilian sitting on the floor by the slave, and bathed in tears; while Eurymachus, with a faint flush on his face, was exhorting her in grave and solemn tones, and only ceased speaking as Stephanus appeared in the doorway.
The Massilian rose and dried her eyes and cheeks.
“I thank you heartily,” she said with a deep sigh; “you have lifted a burden from my soul—ah! I never knew till now how intolerable it was.”
“What is going on here?” asked Stephanus, suspiciously. “You are weeping? Will you have the goodness to explain to me...?”
“Not now. No, nor presently! You could never understand what it is that moves me. How pale you are! I verily believe you are afraid of your slave there. You do not know, that his noble soul forgives you? But you, too, must try to overcome the hatred that possesses you. You must grant the slave his freedom, and give him the means of quitting Rome in secret and in safety. Nay, more; you must now, at once, make a last effort to mitigate the fate of Quintus Claudius. I wish it—I demand it—I insist upon it—and, let me tell you, I am in a position to enforce my commands. Nay, you need not scowl so; I mean it.”
“Lycoris!” exclaimed Stephanus, trembling in every limb, “do not forget to whom you owe everything, and what you rose from.”
“From bog and mire, I know it well—but not to struggle all my life-long in the slough of dependence. You have counted without your host, Stephanus! I am no longer your tool. It is you yourself who, without knowing it, have shown me the path to freedom. One sign from me, and Parthenius will crush you to the earth. I have paid dearly for my power, bought it with sin and disgrace—but I mean to use it. Go, Stephanus, and fulfil the behests of the miserable and despised creature, on whose neck you once could have set your foot.”
Before Stephanus could reply, Antinous, his familiar, was standing before him, offering him a note. “A message from the Empress,” he said, out of breath.