“Since Sosius, my father’s confidant and friend, voluntarily killed himself so as to escape the horrible insult of an unjust sentence, and since Sosia has been exiled, my friends have become suspicious of me. I, who have done nothing but revel in pleasures, am looked upon as one who would try to conspire.”
“Thou didst conspire and won me,” said Merope, forcing an air of gaiety.
“Ay,” said Sabinus, laying his hand upon hers. “But since the death of Sosius, my honored father has been incessantly followed by soldiers in disguise. He dared not leave Rome. Didst thou ever see,” he suddenly asked her, “Claudia Pulchra?”
“Ay, my Sabinus; she is one of the most beautiful women in the city.”
“She has been strangled.”
“For what crime?”
“Friendship for Agrippina. They were cousins. A purer woman never lived in Rome. But she was accused of adultery with an obscure poet, and both are now dead. Even Calpurnius Piso destroyed himself because of the attacks made upon him by the emperor.”
“Truly, the life of a dancing-girl is safer than that of people in higher station.”
“Ay, thou art right, my Merope.”
“Tell me again why thou art leaving Rome,” said Merope, as she watched a sea-gull floating in the air above the bireme.