"The
little rascals mean no harm and never bite even a beggar, but they never
could endure old women. Whom do you seek here mother?"

"That you shall soon know," replied Sabina sharply, "what a state of
things, Lentulus, your architect Pontius' work has brought about. And
what must the inside be like if this but is left standing to disgrace
the entrance of the palace! It must go with its inhabitants. Desire that
woman to conduct us to the Roman lord who dwells here."

The chamberlain obeyed and Doris began to suspect who was standing
before her, and she said as she smoothed down her dress and bowed low:

"What great honor befalls us illustrious lady; perhaps you are even the
Emperor's wife? If that be the case--"

Sabina made an impatient sign to the chamberlain who interrupted the old
woman exclaiming:

"Be silent and show us the way."

Doris was not feeling particularly strong that day, and her eyes already
red with weeping about her son again filled with tears. No one had ever
spoken so to her before, and yet, for her son's sake she would not repay
sharp words in the same coin, though she had plenty at her command.

She tottered on in front of Sabina, and conducted her to the hall of the
Muses. There Pontius relieved her of the duty, and the respect he paid
to the stranger made her sure that in fact she was none other than the
Empress in person.

"An odious woman!" said Sabina, as she went on pointing to Doris, whom
her words could not escape. This was too much for the old woman; past
all self-control she flung herself on to a seat that was standing by,
covered her face with her hands and began crying bitterly. She felt as
if the very ground were snatched from under her feet.

Her son was in disgrace with Caesar, and she and her house were
threatened by the most powerful woman in the world. She pictured herself
as already turned into the streets with Euphorion and her dogs, and
asked herself what was to become of them all when they had lost their
place and the roof that covered them. Her husband's memory grew daily
weaker, soon his voice even might fail; and how greatly had her own
strength failed during the last few years, how small were the savings
that were hidden in their chest. The bright, genial old woman felt
quite broken down. What hurt her was, not merely the pressing need that
threatened her, but the disgrace too which would fall upon her, the
dislike she had incurred--she who had been liked by e