The young Imperator's heart began to chafe under the curb and to beat
more quickly, his cheeks flushed and paled by turns. How she gazed at
him! What if she loved the nephew as she had once loved the uncle who,
through her, had learned what bliss life can offer? Ay, it must be
happiness to kiss those lips, to be clasped in those exquisite arms, to
hear one's own name tenderly spoken by those musical tones. Even the
magnificent marble statue of Ariadne, which he had seen in Athens, had
not displayed to his gaze lines more beautiful than those of the woman
reclining on yonder pillows. Who could venture to speak in her presence
of vanished charms? Ah, no! The spell which had conquered Julius Caesar
was as vivid, as potent as ever. He himself felt its power; he was
young, and after such unremitting exertions he too yearned to quaff the
nectar of the noblest joys, to steep body and soul in peerless bliss.

So, with a hasty movement, he took one step towards her couch, resolved
to grasp her hands and raise them to his lips. His ardent gaze answered
hers; but surprised by the power which, though so heavily burdened with
physical and mental suffering, she still possessed over the strongest and
coldest of men, she perceived what was passing in his soul, and a smile
of triumph, blended with the most bitter contempt, hovered around her
beautiful lips. Should she dupe him into granting her wishes by feigning
love for the first time? Should she yield to the man who had insulted
her, in order to induce him to accord the children their rights? Should
she, to gratify her lover's foe, relinquish the sacred grief which was
drawing her after him, give posterity and her children the right to call
her, instead of the most loyal of the loyal, a dishonoured woman, who
sold herself for power?

To all these questions came a prompt denial. The single stride which