Hastily Domitia drew the curtains of her litter, and was seen no more, spoke no more till she reached the door of Longa Duilia.
Here she descended and entered the house.
“My dear Domitia! my august daughter! What a pleasure! What an honor!”
The lady Duilia started up to embrace the Empress.
Domitia received the kiss coldly, and sank silent on a stool.
Her mother looked at her with surprise. Domitia was waxen white, her eyes with dark rings about them, and unnaturally large and bright. The color had left her lips and these were leaden in hue.
Domitia did not speak, did not move. She remained for some moments like a statue.
“As the Gods love me!” exclaimed her mother after a long pause, “you are not going to be ill, surely—nothing dangerous, nothing likely to end unhappily. Ye Gods! and I have so much I want you to do for me. Tell me, I entreat you. Hide nothing from me. You are suffering. Where is it? What is it? Shall I send for a doctor?”
“Mother, no doctor can cure me. It is here,” Domitia pressed her hands to her heart—“and here,” to her temples. “I am the most miserable, the most unfortunate of women.”
“Ye Gods! He has divorced you?”