capture you!' still rang in my ears, I saw the betrayed Queen turn from
the door through which, resolved on death, she was saying something to
Gallus, perceive Proculejus close behind her, thrust her hand into her
girdle, and with the speed of lightning--you have already heard so--throw
up her arm with the little dagger to bury the sharp blade in her breast.
What a picture! In the full radiance of the brilliant light, she
resembled a statue of triumphant victory or of noble pride in great deeds
accomplished; and then, then, only an instant later, what an outrage was
inflicted!

"Like a robber, an assassin, Proculejus rushed upon her, seized her arm,
and wrested the weapon from her grasp. His tall figure concealed her
from me. But when, struggling to escape from the ruffian's clutch, she
again turned her face towards the hall, what a transformation had
occurred! Her eyes--you know how large they are--were twice their usual
size, and blazed with scorn, fury, and hatred for the traitor. The
cheering light had become a consuming fire. So I imagine the vengeance,
the curse which calls down ruin upon the head of a foe. And Proculejus,
the great lord, the poet whose noble nature is praised by the authors on
the banks of the Tiber, held the defenceless woman, the worthy daughter
of a brilliant line of kings, in a firm grasp, as if it required the
exertion of all his strength to master this delicate embodiment of
charming womanhood. True, the proud blood of the outwitted lioness urged
her to resist this profanation, and Proculejus--an enviable honour--made
her feel the superior strength of his arm. I am no prophet, but Dion, I
repeat, this shameful struggle and the glances which flashed upon him
will be remembered to his dying hour. Had they been darted at me, I
should have cursed my life.

"They blanched even the Roman's cheeks. He was lividly pale as he