"How is it with Camilla?" the Prefect inquired further. "She has never yet awakened from her stupor; the physicians fear the worst. But I came to ask you what shall now be done? The Queen speaks of suppressing the examination concerning you." "That must not be," cried Cethegus. "I demand an investigation. We will go to her immediately." "Will you intrude upon her at the coffin of her son?" "Yes, I will. Do you shrink from it in your tender consideration? Well then, come afterwards, when I have broken the ice." He dismissed his visitor and called his slaves to dress him. Shortly afterwards, enveloped in a dark mourning garment, he descended to the vault where the corpse lay exposed. With an imperious gesture he motioned aside the guard and the women of Amalaswintha, who kept watch at the door, and entered noiselessly. It was the low vaulted hall, where, in former times, the corpses of the emperors had been prepared with salves and combustibles for the funeral pyre. This quiet hall, flagged with dark-green serpentine, the roof of which was supported by short Doric columns of black marble, was never illumined by a ray of sunshine, and at the present moment no other light fell upon the gloomy Byzantine mosaics on the gold ground of the walls than that from four torches, which flickered with an uncertain light near the stone sarcophagus of the young King. There he lay upon a dark purple mantle; helm, sword, and shield at his head. Old Hildebrand had wound a wreath of oak-leaves amidst the dark locks. The noble features reposed in pallid and earnest beauty. At his feet, clad in a long mourning veil, sat the tall form of the Queen, supporting her head upon her left arm, which was laid upon the sarcophagus. Her right hand hung languidly down. She could weep no more. The crackling of the burning torches was the only sound in this stillness of the grave. Cethegus entered noiselessly, not unmoved by the poetry of the scene. But, contracting his brows, he smothered the passing feeling of compassion. He knew that it was necessary to be clear and composed. He gently drew near and took Amalaswintha's relaxed hand. "Rise, noble lady, you belong to the living, not to the dead." She looked up, startled. "You here, Cethegus? What seek you here?" "A Queen!" "Oh, you only find a weeping mother!" she cried, sobbing. "That I cannot believe. The kingdom is in danger, and Amalaswintha will show that even a woman can sacrifice her sorrow to the fatherland." "She can!" replied the Queen, rising. "But look at him. How young! how beautiful! How could Heaven be so cruel!" "Now, or never!" thought Cethegus, and said aloud: "Heaven is just, severe; not cruel." "Of what do you speak? What wrong has my noble son committed? Do you dare to accuse him?"