Lucanus drew her frail hand through his arm and said, gently: "What
hast thou, dearest? Art thou not well?"

"I am quite well, father dear," and as she spoke, she drew over her
face a light, filmy veil, effectually shielding her from the too
curious gaze of the laughing throng of merry-makers.

"Why, then, dost thou cry, my daughter?"

Virgilia glanced at her mother and noticing that she was out of
hearing, whispered in his ear: "I hate it, father. Do not bring me
again."

He looked at her with surprise, then, remembering that girls have
strange fancies, he was silent, and guided her safely out into the
blazing sunshine. The sun was still an hour above the horizon; the
pine-trees on the Palatine Hills, where Caesar's palaces were, stood
up like giant sentinels against a sky of limpid blue.

Aurelius Lucanus led the way through the Forum, where his wife, an
ardent worshipper of the gods, stopped to lay a bunch of roses on the
base of a large statue of Ceres, standing near the Temple and a
building dedicated to the use of the Vestal Virgins.

The Chief Virgin was being carried to the entrance in her chair, borne
by four bearers, while in front of her walked the two men who held
high the symbols of her priestly office. Claudia fell upon her knees
as the holy vestal went by, until her chair had been carried through
the iron gates.