“But I do not understand thee.”
“Speak not so loud, O Psyche, the soldiers may hear us. Thy dear brother wrote, ‘Have done wrong.’ I fear he had learned some terrible secret, and that we, in reading these words, have gained a clue to that secret. Oh that we had not seen that writing!” he repeated.
“There can be no harm in knowing about Lygdus.”
“Ay, my love, there is harm,” he insisted. “Never acknowledge having read that message. If thou art asked about it in the camp, deny all knowledge concerning it. Promise me this, O my love.”
“I promise thee, O my Gyges.”
At the Praetorian Camp Gyges repeated this warning, and then the lovers parted. Feeling assured that she would see Gyges the next day, Psyche said farewell with no great misgivings. Oppressed with anguish at the terrible death of Gannon, but as yet unconscious of the approach of new misfortune, she was led into the office of Sejanus. The minister had just returned from his visit to the palace on the Palatine Hill. A dim light revealed him seated on a curule chair surrounded by a few soldiers, to whom he was issuing orders. When Psyche was announced, he dismissed his attendants. When they were left alone, he said, “Truly, art thou the dancing-girl?”
“Ay, my lord Sejanus,” said Psyche, in a plaintive tone.
“Art thou Gannon’s sister?”
“Ay; and—”
“Thou wast not at home when thy parents were brought here?” Sejanus roughly interrupted her.