“I shall go away. I will not return to the palace.”
“Go whither? the world belongs to Domitian. There is not a corner where you can hide. There are officials, and when not officials—spies. I have no doubt that the fish in that tank put up their heads and wish they were butterflies to soar above the roof and get away and sport among the flowers, instead of going interminably about the impluvium. But, my dear, they can’t do it, so they acquiesce in tank existence. Yours is the finest and best lot in the world,—and you would surrender it! From being a lioness you would decline to be a house cat!”
Domitia turned abruptly away, tears of anger and disappointment were in her eyes.
She said in a muffled voice:—
“Lady Cornelia, will you come with me?”
“I am at your service,” answered the Vestal.
The ladies departed together, and at the portal each entered her own litter.
“To the Atrium Vestæ,” said Domitia.
Her retinue started, and a moment after followed that of the Vestal Cornelia.
The streets were full of excited multitudes, currents running up one side, down another, meeting, coming to a standstill, clotting, and choking the thoroughfares, then breaking up and flowing again.