“Undoubtedly,” replied the Cæsar. “But though she might almost be your mother, an uncommonly dangerous one for youths of your age. What a melting voice, what versatility, what fervour! And yet such regal grace in every movement! But I wish to stifle, not to fan, the spark which perhaps has already fallen into your heart. And the play, the farce which she just enacted before me in the midst of most serious matters!”
He uttered a low, short laugh; but Dolabella exclaimed expectantly: “You rarely laugh, but this conversation—apparently—excites your mirth. So the result was satisfactory?”
“Let us hope so. I was as gracious to her as possible.”
“That is delightful. May I know in what manner your kindness and wisdom have shaped her future? Or, rather, what did you promise the vanquished Queen?”
“My favour, if she will trust me.”
“Proculejus and I will continue to strengthen her confidence. And if we succeed——?”
“Then, as I have said, she will have my favour—a generous abundance of favour.”
“But her future destiny? What fate will you bestow on her and her children?”
“Whatever the degree of her confidence deserves.”
Here he hesitated, for he met Dolabella’s earnest, troubled gaze, which was blended with a shade of reproach.