Then she approached the bed of the sick woman, hastily, and threw herself on her knees beside it.
“Glyceria,” she said, “can you forgive me?”
The crippled woman took the hands of Domitia and covered them with kisses, whilst her tears flowed over them.
This was more than the Empress could bear. She disengaged her hands, threw her arms about the widow, and burst into convulsive weeping.
“Nay, nay!” said Glyceria, “do not give way. It was not thy doing.”
“But you fear me,” sobbed Domitia, “they do so—they without. Not one touched, not one kissed me. They think me of evil omen.”
“There is nothing unlucky. Everything falls out as God wills; and whatever comes, if we bow under His hand, He will give sweetness and grace.”
“You say this! You who have lost everything!”
“Oh, no! lady,” then the cripple touched the cornelian fish. “This remains.”
“It is a charm that has brought no luck.”