“Stand back!” shrieked Cornelia wildly. “Is this the field where Caesar, the ruler of the world, seeks a triumph? Are these the glorious deeds of a Flavian?”
“Hold your tongue, girl!” cried Domitian, furious.
“I mock at your contemptible anger! Rome may crawl and whimper at your feet—I, Cornelia, scorn you! You clench your fist—coward! Kill me then, as you killed Julia.”
“How she stands there,” muttered Domitian, “like animated marble! I had expected a different issue to my hour of immortality. You shall pay for this, Barbillus!”
Cornelia had made her way towards the door, her eye still fixed on the enemy, and she now laid her hand on the bolt—but the door was fastened outside. Domitian laughed. He saw that Barbillus had foreseen every contingency, and this restored his spirits. If cunning failed, force might still conquer. He felt for the dagger he wore in his bosom....
“You are wasting your trouble,” he said scornfully. “Here you are mine, fair Cornelia.”
The girl supported herself against a pillar; her head swam, and the dim blue light which shone into the room from the alcove, suddenly grew dark before her eyes. But she soon recovered the use of her wits. It occurred to her, that on the other side, where the Emperor had come in, there must be another door. She sprang upon Domitian like a lioness, and he could not stand against the unexpected attack. He tottered on one side, his foot caught in a fold of the curtain, and he fell to the ground.
By the time he had picked himself up again, Cornelia had disappeared.
“Barbillus!” shouted Domitian, in the darkness of the long corridor, which checked his pursuit. “I cannot see my hand before my face—Barbillus!”
The priest came up the stairs with a lantern in his hand.