There was a pause of some duration, during which the Senator of Rome restlessly paced the apartment. Stephania had resumed her former station and seemed lost in deep rumination. From without no sounds were audible. The city slept. The evening star burnt low down in the horizon. The moon sickle slept on the crests of the mountains of Albano.
At last Stephania rose and laid her white arm on the shoulder of the Senator of Rome.
"I will do your bidding," she said slowly, looking straight into his eyes, "for the glory of Rome and your own!"
"For our glory," Crescentius replied with a deep sigh of relief. "I knew you would not fail me in this hour of need."
Stephania raised her hand, as if deprecating the reward.
"For your glory alone, my lord,—it will suffice for both of us," she replied hurriedly, as her arms sank down by her side.
"Be it so, since you so wish it," Crescentius replied. "I thank you, Stephania! And now farewell. It waxes late and grave matters of state require my instant attention. Await not my return to-night."
And kissing her brow, Crescentius hurriedly left his wife's apartment and ascended a spiral stairway, leading to the chamber of his astrologer. Suddenly he staggered, as if he had seen his own ghost and turned sick at heart.
"What have I done!" he gasped, grasping his forehead with both hands. "What have I done!"
Was it a presentiment that suddenly rushed over Him, prompting him to retrace his steps, prompting him to take back his request? For a moment he wavered. His pride and his love struggled for supremacy,—but pride conquered. He would not have Stephania think that he feared a rival on earth. He would not have her believe that he questioned her love.