and
I will--"

"You will let the young Alexandrians, with whom you revelled through the
night, introduce you to new fair ones--I know it."

"There are in fact women here of incredible charm," replied Verus quite
coolly. White, brown, copper-colored, black--and all delightful in their
way. I could never be tired of admiring them."

"And your wife?" asked Lucilla, facing him, sternly. "My wife? yes, my
fairest. Wife is a solemn title of honor and has nothing to do with the
joys of life. How could I mention your name in the same hour with those
of the poor children who help me to beguile an idle hour."

Domitia Lucilla was used to such phrases, and yet on this occasion they
gave her a pang. But she concealed it, and crossing her arms she said
resolutely and with dignity:

"Go your way--through life with your Ovid, and your gods of love, but do
not attempt to crush innocence under the wheels of your chariot."

"Balbilla do you mean," asked the praetor with a loud laugh. "She knows
how to take care of herself and has too much spirit to let herself get
entangled in erotics. The little son of Venus has nothing to say to two
people who are such good friends as she and I are."

"May I believe you?"

"My word for it, I ask nothing of her but a kind word," cried he, frankly
offering his hand to his wife. Lucilla only touched it lightly with her
fingers and said:

"Send me back to Rome. I have an unutterable longing to see my children,
particularly the boys."

"It cannot be," said Verus. "Not at present; but in a few weeks, I hope."

"Why not sooner?"

"Do not ask me."

"A mother may surely wish to know why she is separated from her baby in
the cradle."

"That cradle is at present in your mother's house, and she is taking care
of our little ones. Have patience, a little longer for that which I am
striving after, for you, and for me, and not last, for our son, is so
great, so stupendously great and difficult that it might well outweigh
years of longing."

Verus spoke the last words in a low tone, but with a dignity which
characterized him only in decisive moments, but his wife, even before he
had done speaking, clasped his right-hand in both of hers and said in a
low frightened voice:

"You aim at the purple?" He nodded assent.

"That is what it means then!"

"What?"

"Sabina and you--"

"Not on that account only; she is hard and sharp to others, but to me she
has shown nothing but kindness, ever since I