An eunuch appeared in the doorway.
Breathless, in short, broken sentences, Nero entreated him to look out in his wardrobe for a sorry mantle, and to bring it him.
“But whither will—can you go?” asked Phaon. “The Senate has been assembled—it has been convoked for midnight to vote your deposition and death.”
“I will go before it. Nay! I will haste to the Forum, I will mount the Tribune. I will ask to be given the government of Egypt. That at least will not be refused me.”
“My lord, the streets are filling with people. They will tear you to pieces ere you reach the Forum.”
“Think you so! Why so? I have amused the people so well. Good Phaon, hire me a swift galley, and I will take refuge with Tiridates. I restored to him the crown of Armenia. He will not be ungrateful.”
“My lord, it will not be possible for you to leave Italy.”
“Then I will retire to a farm. I will grow cabbages and turnips. The god Tiberius was fond of turnips. O Divine Powers that rule the fate of men! shall I ever eat turnips again? Phaon, hide me for a season. Men’s minds are changeable. They are heated now. They will cool to-morrow. They cannot kill such a superlative artist as myself.”
“I have a villa between the Salarian and the Nomentane Roads. If it please you to go thither——”
“At once. I think I hear horse-hoofs. O Phaon, save me!”