f the swarming harbour and the bustling city; and
gardens upon gardens shut off from the outside by lofty walls--some
great enclosures containing besides forests of rare trees a vast
menagerie of wild beasts, whose roarings from their cages made one
think the groves a tropical jungle; some gardens, dainty, secluded
spots laid out in Egyptian fashion, under the shade of a few fine old
sycamores, with a vineyard and a stone trellis-work in the midst, with
arbours and little parks of exotic plants, a palm or two, and a tank
where the half-tame water-fowl would plash among the lotus and papyrus
plants. In such a nook as this Cornelia would sit and read all the day
long, and put lotus flowers in her hair, look down into the water,
and, Narcissus-like, fall in love with her own face, and tell herself
that Drusus would be delighted that she had not grown ugly since he
parted with her.

So passed the winter and the spring and early summer months; and,
however hot and parched might be the city under the burning sun, there
was coolness and refreshment in the gardens of the palace.

With it all, however, Cornelia began to wax restive. It is no light
thing to command one's self to remain quiet in Sybaritic ease. More
and more she began to wish that this butterfly existence, this passive
basking in the sun of indolent luxury, would come to an end. She
commenced again to wish that she were a man, with the tongue of an
orator, the sword of a soldier, able to sway senates and to lead
legions. Pothinus finally discovered that he was having some
difficulty in keeping his cage-bird contented. The eunuch had
entertained great expectations of being able to win credit and favour
with the conquerors among the Romans by delivering over Cornelia safe
and sound either to Lentulus Crus or Quintus Drusus. Now he began to
fear that Pratinas had advised him ill; that Cornelia and Fabia were
incapable of intriguing in Cleopatra's favour, and by his "protection
at the palace" he was only earning the enmity of his noble guests. But
it was too late to retrace his steps, and he accordingly plied
Cornelia with so many additional attentions, presents, and obsequious
flatteries, that she grew heartily disgusted and repined even more
over her present situation.

Bad news came, which added to her discomfort. Caesar had been driven
from his lines at Dyrrachium. He had lost a great many men. If the
Pompeian sources of information were to be believed, he was