‘Hush!’ said Agrippina, severely. ‘This levity is boyish and ill-timed. Jest at what you like, but never at the majesty of the Imperial power--not even in private, not even to me. And remember that palace walls have ears. Did you leave Octavia at the table?’ ‘I did.’ ‘Imprudent!’ said his mother. ‘You know what pains I have taken to keep her from seeing too much of her father except when we are present. Claudius sometimes sleeps off the fumes of wine, and after a doze he can talk as sensibly as he ever does. Was Britannicus in the Hall?’ ‘Britannicus?’ said Nero. ‘Of course not. You have taken pains enough, mother, to keep _him_ in the background. According to the antique fashion which the Emperor has revived of late, you saw him at the banquet, sitting at the end of the seat behind his father. But the boys have been dismissed with their pedagogues long ago, and, for all I know, Britannicus has been sent to bed.’ ‘And for whose sake do I take these precautions?’ asked the Empress. ‘Is it not for your sake, ungrateful? Is it not that you may wear the purple, and tower over the world as the Imperator Romanus?’ ‘For my sake,’ thought Nero, ‘and for her own sake, too.’ But he said nothing; and as he had not attained to the art of disguising his thoughts from that keenest of observers, he bent down, to conceal a smile, and kissed his mother’s cheek, with the murmured words, ‘Best of mothers!’ ‘Best of mothers! Yes; but for how long?’ said Agrippina. ‘When once I have seated you on the throne--’ She broke off her sentence. She had never dared to tell her son the fearful augury which the Chaldeans had uttered of him: ‘He shall be Emperor, and shall kill his mother.’ He had never dreamed that she had returned the answer: ‘Let him slay me, so he be Emperor.’ ‘_Optima mater_, now and always,’ he replied. ‘But I am angry with Britannicus--_very_ angry!’ and he stamped his foot. ‘Why? The boy is harmless enough. I thought you had him completely under your power. You seem to be very good friends, and I have seen you sitting together, and training your magpies and jays to talk, quite amicably. Nay, though Britannicus hates me, I almost won his heart--for two minutes--by promising to give him my talking-thrush, which eyes us so curiously from its cage.’[3] ‘Give it to me, mother,’ said Nero. ‘A thrush that can talk as yours can is the greatest rarity in the world, and worth ten times over its weight in gold.’ ‘No, Nero; Britannicus shall have it. I like to see him devoting himself to such trifles. I have other views for you. But what has the poor boy done to offend you?’ ‘I met him in the Gelotian House,’ said Nero, ‘and how do you think he dared to address me? _Me_--by sacred adoption the son of Claudius, and, therefore, his elder brother?’ ‘How?’