Petronius saw that he had taken the wrong road, that his words had produced an effect the very opposite of what he intended; so, to turn Cæsar’s mind in another direction, he bent toward him and whispered,—
“Thy song is marvellous, but I will make one remark: in the fourth line of the third strophe the metre leaves something to be desired.”
Nero, blushing with shame, as if caught in a disgraceful deed, had fear in his look, and answered in a whisper also,—
“Thou seest everything. I know. I will re-write that. But no one else noticed it, I think. And do thou, for the love of the gods, mention it to no one,—if life is dear to thee.”
To this Petronius answered, as if in an outburst of vexation and anger,
“Condemn me to death, O divinity, if I deceive thee; but thou wilt not terrify me, for the gods know best of all if I fear death.”
And while speaking he looked straight into Cæsar’s eyes, who answered after a while,—
“Be not angry; thou knowest that I love thee.”
“A bad sign!” thought Petronius.
“I wanted to invite thee to-day to a feast,” continued Nero, “but I prefer to shut myself in and polish that cursed line in the third strophe. Besides thee Seneca may have noticed it, and perhaps Secundus Carinas did; but I will rid myself of them quickly.”