weighed on their hearts most,--that is, of Lygia's escape in the
evening. Acte was far less at rest than Lygia touching its success. At
times it seemed to her even a mad project, which could not succeed.
She felt a growing pity for Lygia. It seemed to her that it would be
a hundred times safer to try to act on Vinicius. After a while she
inquired of Lygia how long she had known him, and whether she did not
think that he would let himself be persuaded to return her to Pomponia.

But Lygia shook her dark head in sadness. "No. In Aulus's house,
Vinicius had been different, he had been very kind, but since
yesterday's feast she feared him, and would rather flee to the Lygians."

"But in Aulus's house," inquired Acte, "he was dear to thee, was he
not?"

"He was," answered Lygia, inclining her head.

"And thou wert not a slave, as I was," said Acte, after a moment's
thought. "Vinicius might marry thee. Thou art a hostage, and a daughter
of the Lygian king. Aulus and Pomponia love thee as their own child; I
am sure that they are ready to adopt thee. Vinicius might marry thee,
Lygia."

But Lygia answered calmly, and with still greater sadness, "I would
rather flee to the Lygians."

"Lygia, dost thou wish me to go directly to Vinicius, rouse him, if he
is sleeping, and tell him what I have told thee? Yes, my precious one, I
will go to him and say, 'Vinicius, this is a king's daughter, and a dear
child of the famous Aulus; if thou love her, return her to Aulus and
Pomponia, and take her as wife from their house.'"

But the maiden answered with a voice so low that Acte could barely hear
it,--

"I would rather flee to the Lygians." And two tears were hanging on her
drooping lids.

Further conversation was stopped by the rustle of approaching steps, and
before Acte had time to see who was coming, Poppaea Sabina appeared in
front of the bench with a small retinue of slave women. Two of them held
over her head bunches of ostrich feathers fixed to golden wires; with
these they fanned her lightly, and at the same time protected her from
the autumn sun, which was hot yet. Before her a woman from Egypt, black
as ebony, and with bosom swollen as if from milk, bore in her arms
an infant wrapped in purple fringed with gold. Acte and Lygia rose,
thinking that Poppaea would pass the bench without turning attention to
either; but she halted before them and said,--"Acte, the bells sent by
thee for the doll were badly fastened; the chi