To Octavia the visits of her brother were almost the only happiness left. As he entered she dismissed the slaves, for she saw at a glance that some profound emotion had swept over his mind, and longed to give him consolation. In their forlornness the brother and sister always tried to spare each other any needless pang. Octavia had never hinted to Britannicus that Nero’s base hand had often been lifted to strike her. She did not tell him that on that morning he had seized her by the hair, and in the frenzy of his rage had almost strangled her. Nor would he tell her about the infamous attack on their father’s memory which he had seen on Nero’s table. He little dreamt that she knew of it already, nay, even that, with coarse malice, Nero had shown it to her, and read passages aloud in her tortured hearing on purpose to humiliate and trouble her. Still less would he reveal the threat which seemed to give fresh significance to the feline gleam which he had caught a few days before in the eyes of the horrible Locusta. Yet by secret intuition each of them divined something of what was in the heart of the other. When Britannicus entered he found his sister gazing with a sad smile at a gold coin of the island of Teos, which lay on the palm of her hand. ‘What amuses you in that coin?’ he asked. ‘Look at it,’ she said, pointing to the inscription Θεὰν Ὀκταβίαν-- ‘the _goddess_ Octavia.’[51] ‘I was thinking, Britannicus, that if the other goddesses are as little happy as I am, I should prefer to be a mortal!’ Her brother smiled too, but remained silent. He dreaded to deepen her sorrow. ‘Have you nothing to tell me, Britannicus?’ she asked. ‘What is it which makes you so much sadder than your wont?’ ‘Nothing that I _can_ tell you,’ he answered. ‘But oh, Octavia, what thoughts strike you when you look round upon this Palace and society? Is there no such thing as virtue?’ he asked impetuously. ‘The Romans used to honour it. Who cares for virtue now, except one or two philosophers ? and--’ ‘Speak on, Britannicus,’ she said. ‘Agrippina is less our enemy than she was. She has withdrawn her spies. We are not worth the hatred of any one else. Of the slaves who chiefly wait on me, most are faithful, and some are Christians.’ ‘You have guessed my meaning, Octavia. Of the men and women around us, how very few there are, except the Christians, who are pure and good. How comes it?’ ‘Their strange faith sustains them.’ ‘But does it not seem inconceivable that the gods--or that God, if there be but one, should have revealed the truth to barbarian Jews?’ ‘I don’t know, Britannicus. Who is the most virtuous person you know--I mean, excepting the Christians?’ ‘Have we met any--except perhaps Persius and my Titus? and--well, perhaps the most virtuous of all is that little slave, Epictetus.’