‘Ah, well!’ continued Nero, ‘I shall not give it you for your deserts, but because it will look splendid on the ivory arm of your Statilia. A more fitting present to you would be this little viper enclosed in amber;[13] the viper is your malice, the amber your flattery. And what on earth am I to give you, Senecio? or you, Petronius? You are devoted to so many fair ladies, that I should have to give you the whole wardrobe; but I will give you, Senecio, a silken fillet embroidered with pearls; and, Petronius, Nature has set out this agate--I believe it is from the spoils of Pyrrhus--for no one but you, for she has marked on it an outline of Apollo and the Muses. Quintianus, this ring with Hylas on it will just suit you.’ There was a hidden sarcasm in much which he had said even while he distributed his gifts, and not a few serpents hissed among the flowery speeches interchanged in this bad society. But they all thanked him effusively for presents so splendid. At this point a sudden thought suggested itself to Nero. He had not seen much of his mother for the last few days, and being in buoyant spirits, and thoroughly pleased with himself, he chose out the most splendid robe and ornaments, and bade some of the wardrobe-keepers to carry them to the apartments of the Augusta, with the message that they were a present from her son. ‘And do you,’ he said to his freedman Polycletus, ‘bring me back word of what the Empress says in thanks.’ Nero and his friends returned to the room in which they had been sitting, and had begun to play at dice for large stakes, when Polycletus came back, flushed and excited. Nero was himself a little uneasy at what he had done. His mother, with her unlimited resources, hardly needed a present of this kind. As long as she was Empress, all these robes had been her own; and Nero was exercising an unwonted sort of patronage when he sent this gift by the hands of an attendant. There was a certain vulgarity in his attention, which was all the worse because it was ostentatious. And yet, if Agrippina had been wise, she would have shown greater command over her temper, and have prevented that tragic widening of the ‘little rift within the lute’ which soon silenced the music of a mother’s love. ‘Well, and was the Augusta pleased?’ asked Nero, looking up from his dice. ‘I will report to the Emperor when he is alone,’ said the freedman. ‘Tush, man!’ answered Nero, nervously. ‘We are all friends here, and if my mother was very effusive in her compliments, they will pardon it.’ ‘She returned no praises and no thanks.’ ‘Ha! that was ungracious. Tell me exactly what she did.’ ‘She asked me who were with you, and I mentioned the names of those present.’ ‘What business is it of hers?’ said Nero, reddening, as he noticed the significant glances interchanged between Otho and Vestinus, the latter of whom whispered a Greek proverb about boys tied to their mother’s apron-strings.