“Whoso renders service to thee will fill it by that same.”
“Thou art not mistaken, O philosopher.”
But Poppæa did not forget her enemies. Her fancy for Vinicius was, indeed, rather a momentary whim, which had risen under the influence of jealousy, anger, and wounded vanity. Still the coolness of the young patrician touched her deeply, and filled her heart with a stubborn feeling of offence. This alone, that he had dared to prefer another, seemed to her a crime calling for vengeance. As to Lygia, she hated her from the first moment, when the beauty of that northern lily alarmed her. Petronius, who spoke of the too narrow hips of the girl, might talk what he pleased into Cæsar, but not into the Augusta. Poppæa the critic understood at one cast of the eye that in all Rome Lygia alone could rival and even surpass her. Thenceforth she vowed her ruin.
“Lord,” said she, “avenge our child.”
“Hasten!” cried Chilo, “hasten! Otherwise Vinicius will hide her. I will point out the house to which she returned after the fire.”
“I will give thee ten men, and go this moment,” said Tigellinus.
“O lord! thou hast not seen Croton in the arms of Ursus; if thou wilt give fifty men, I will only show the house from a distance. But if ye will not imprison Vinicius, I am lost.”
Tigellinus looked at Nero. “Would it not be well, O divinity, to finish at once with the uncle and nephew?”
Nero thought a moment and answered,—
“No, not now. People would not believe us if we tried to persuade them that Petronius, Vinicius, or Pomponia Græcina had fired Rome. Their houses were too beautiful. Their turn will come later; to-day other victims are needed.”