"Be silent," said Mataswintha. "The King, my husband"--and a lovely flush rose into her cheeks--"does more than you deserve. Wait here. I will bring you bread. Follow me, Aspa." And she hastened away.
"Whither goest thou?" asked the slave, astonished.
Mataswintha drew her veil closely over her face as she answered:
"To the King!"
When she reached the antechamber of the King's apartments, the door-keeper, who recognised her with amazement, begged her to wait a moment.
"An ambassador from Belisarius has been admitted to a private audience. He has been in the room already for some time, and no doubt will soon leave it."
Just then the door of the King's apartment was opened, and Procopius stood hesitating upon the threshold.
"King of the Goths," he said, as he once again turned round, "is that your last word?"
"My last; as it was my first," answered the King, with dignity.
"I will give you time--I will remain in Ravenna till to-morrow----"