Nero, in a mood of fearful restlessness, awaited news of the issue of his design. Long ere this he ought to have received the intelligence which would relieve his life of a great burden. Hardly for a moment did the enormity of the crime he was committing press upon a soul given up to shameful self-indulgence. He only yearned to be rid of a figure which frightened him, and checked the rushing chariot-wheels of his passions. Once free from his mother and her threats, he would marry Poppæa and give himself up to whatever his heart desired. Too uneasy to sleep, too much occupied with anxiety to follow his usual pleasures, he talked to Tigellinus, who alone was with him, pacing up and down the hall of his villa, tossing down goblet after goblet of wine, and trying to conjure before his imagination the scene which was being enacted. Surely it could not fail! And, if it succeeded, the dead tell no tales, and the sea-waves would keep the secret! Every one had seen the warmth of his attention to his mother, and the affectionate tenderness with which he had bidden her farewell. What remained but publicly to deplore with tears the sad bereavement which had been inflicted on his youth by the treachery of winds and waves, and then to decree to his mother’s memory the temples and the altars which would be ostentatious proofs of his filial regard? But how was it that no news had reached him? Three or four hours had passed. By this time the deed must have been done. Something had happened--so much was certain; for though he dared not send out to inquire, as though he suspected that anything was wrong, yet from the balcony he saw the torches moving in hurried streams hither and thither, and he could hear the distant cries of excitement and alarm. A messenger was announced. ‘Who is it?’ asked Nero anxiously. ‘The centurion Pudens,’ said the slave; ‘and he is accompanied by Titus Flavius.’ Nero started at the name, for it recalled the night of the murder of Britannicus. ‘What do they want?’ ‘They have important tidings, which they will tell to Cæsar’s ears alone.’ ‘Admit them. See that the guard is on duty close at hand.’ Pudens and the youth were ushered into Nero’s presence, and, in answer to his agitated inquiries, told him all that had occurred, and how they had helped to rescue the Empress as she was saving herself by swimming. They were dismissed, each with a handsome gift; and scarcely had they left the room when Nero, pale as death, and with a heart which throbbed with painful palpitations, flung himself on a couch and turned a terrified look on his accomplice. ‘The plan has been bungled,’ he said. ‘I am ruined. My mother has been wounded. She knows all.’ Tigellinus feared that in his terror he would swoon away, and sprinkled his face with water.