In the atrium of the villa young Nerva and Tullius Senecio were entertaining the Augusta with conversation. Terpnos and Diodorus were tuning citharæ.
Nero entered, sat in an armchair inlaid with tortoise-shell, whispered something in the ear of a Greek slave near his side, and waited.
The page returned soon with a golden casket. Nero opened it and took out a necklace of great opals.
“These are jewels worthy of this evening,” said he.
“The light of Aurora is playing in them,” answered Poppæa, convinced that the necklace was for her.
Cæsar, now raising, now lowering the rosy stones, said at last,—“Vinicius, thou wilt give, from me, this necklace to her whom I command thee to marry, the youthful daughter of the Lygian king.”
Poppæa’s glance, filled with anger and sudden amazement, passed from Cæsar to Vinicius. At last it rested on Petronius. But he, leaning carelessly over the arm of the chair, passed his hand along the back of the harp as if to fix its form firmly in his mind.
Vinicius gave thanks for the gift, approached Petronius, and asked,—“How shall I thank thee for what thou hast done this day for me?”
“Sacrifice a pair of swans to Euterpe,” replied Petronius, “praise Cæsar’s songs, and laugh at omens. Henceforth the roaring of lions will not disturb thy sleep, I trust, nor that of thy Lygian lily.”
“No,” said Vinicius; “now I am perfectly at rest.”