“No,” replied the Roman, “Tiberius is still Emperor, but we have ceased to pray for him. Our prayers can no longer benefit him.” “My friend,” said the old woman, “I live far away among the mountains, where one learns nothing of what happens out in the world. Won’t you tell me what dreadful misfortune has overtaken the Emperor?” “The most dreadful of all misfortunes! He has been stricken with a disease which has never before been known in Italy, but which seems to be common in the Orient. Since this evil has befallen the Emperor, his features are changed, his voice has become like an animal’s grunt, and his toes and fingers are rotting away. And for this illness there appears to be no remedy. They believe that he will die within a few weeks. But if he does not die, he will be dethroned, for such an ill and wretched man can no longer conduct the affairs of State. You understand, of course, that his fate is a foregone conclusion. It is useless to invoke the gods for his success, and it is not worth while,” he added, with a faint smile. “No one has anything more either to fear or hope from him. Why, then, should we trouble ourselves on his account?” He nodded and walked away; but the old woman stood there as if stunned. For the first time in her life she collapsed, and looked like one whom age has subdued. She stood with bent back and trembling head, and with hands that groped feebly in the air. She longed to get away from the place, but she moved her feet slowly. She looked around to find something which she could use as a staff. But after a few moments, by a tremendous effort of the will, she succeeded in conquering the faintness. IV A week later, old Faustina wandered up the steep inclines on the Island of Capri. It was a warm day and the dread consciousness of old age and feebleness came over her as she labored up the winding roads and the hewn-out steps in the mountain, which led to Tiberius’ villa. This feeling increased when she observed how changed everything had become during the time she had been away. In truth, on and alongside these steps there had always before been throngs of people. Here it used fairly to swarm with senators, borne by giant Libyans; with messengers from the provinces attended by long processions of slaves; with office-seekers; with noblemen invited to participate in the Emperor’s feasts. But to-day the steps and passages were entirely deserted. Gray-greenish lizards were the only living things which the old woman saw in her path. She was amazed to see that already everything appeared to be going to ruin. At most, the Emperor’s illness could not have progressed more than two months, and yet the grass had already taken root in the cracks between the marble stones. Rare growths, planted in beautiful vases, were already withered and here and there mischievous spoilers, whom no one had taken the trouble to stop, had broken down the balustrade.