‘I—it should—certainly! The Prefect is most diligent. And he is happy like my humble self in having a master beyond compare.’ Tigellinus stammered in the former part of his reply, but he rolled out the latter with recovered self‐possession and glib readiness. ‘May I be hurled to Hades if I permit my voice in future to show that I have an idea how the wind blows,’ he thought to himself, as he breathed freer. ‘Ugh! I seemed already to fancy myself standing on yonder cliff ready for a dive. He is a sublime hypocrite, or I am an equally sublime fool—I’ll stick to my own trade—at least as far as speaking goes!’ ‘You are a poor newsmonger on this occasion, Tigellinus,’ quoth the Emperor. ‘I am grieved to acknowledge the fact, Caesar,’ answered the other mournfully, ‘but what can your humble servant do in the lack of news? You would be displeased if I were to manufacture any to entertain you.’ ‘Do not try!’ said Tiberius drily; ‘since nothing stirs the air of the city I may infer then that the people are well satisfied with the conduct of those in authority over them?’ Fairly warned by his slip, Tigellinus resolutely stifled his curiosity with regard to the Imperial policy, and was watchful not to be tempted from the secure path of plain matter‐of‐fact answers. He, therefore, replied to the artful question of the Emperor in a simple affirmative, ‘That it was as Caesar had said, as far as his perception was able to ascertain.’ ‘Happy people! happy city!’ murmured Tiberius softly, as if to himself, or to the fire, into which he was gazing. ‘Truly happy!’ was the refrain of Tigellinus. ‘Ah—what?’ said Tiberius, looking up hastily, as though roused from a reverie. ‘I was merely agreeing with you, Caesar, when you remarked what is true beyond doubt, that Rome and its people were happy,’ said Tigellinus. ‘Did I then speak?’ said the Emperor carelessly; ‘I knew it not—I must have thought aloud—a style I am not given to.’ His glance fell on the goblet of wine, which stood untasted, and he stretched out his hand to take it. ‘I had forgotten my drink—no doubt because of your stirring news,’ continued Tiberius, with a delicate sarcasm, which the other instinctively likened to the toying of a tiger’s claws sheathed in velvet; ‘I drink to the happiness of my Romans, and to that of my Prefect in particular.’ A deep draught gurgled down the Imperial throat, and the cup was set down again more than half emptied. Tigellinus eyed his master with covert, doubting glances. ‘One little matter, illustrious, I had forgotten for the moment,’ he said, not daring to withhold it, and yet doubting how it might be received. ‘A little matter,’ observed Tiberius ironically, ‘I daresay with more in it than the other.’ ‘It is in a measure connected with the Prefect, who so well deserves your gracious esteem,’ continued the other, deeming it safe to add the compliment from what had passed, although it had upset all his previous theories.