“You have betrayed me, cheated me!” Caesar yelled, as Barbillus came towards him somewhat doubtfully. “Where is Parthenius?”
“Here, sovereign lord,” said the chamberlain’s voice.
“Wait here in the colonnade with Phaeton,” said Domitian angrily. “And you, Barbillus, divest me this instant of all this foolery.”
When he found himself alone with the priest, and had got fairly rid of the grotesque attributes of the divinity, he hurled furious abuse at Barbillus.
“What?” he snarled. “There is no such thing as a virtuous Roman girl? Liar—answer.”
“I am deeply grieved,” replied the priest. “How was I to guess that she, of all others, would be the girl to disappoint you! Her soft, credulous eyes—I would have risked my head on it.”
“Here you see the traces of her tender submissiveness! She shall die—a wretch, that dared to lift her hand against her sovereign—why, the blood has run down to my shoulder.”
Barbillus dipped a handkerchief in the cool fountain, and bathed Domitian’s face.
“How it stings!” he exclaimed wrathfully. Then his brow suddenly cleared; a gleam of satisfaction dawned on his face.
“Listen, Barbillus; I believe this misadventure is of good omen.”