Plautia gazed after him for a few moments, and then sank back on her cushions in a deep reverie, which, judging by the smile resting on her lips, seemed pleasant enough to entertain her agreeably for a much longer time than sufficed to bring her to her own door. The lady entered her favourite apartment, which was pervaded by the perfume of the costly wood burning in a brazier on the hearth. The appointments of the room were as rich and brilliant in colour as herself, and on a small carved citron‐wood table stood a delicate basket, tastefully packed with the most beautiful flowers. Lydia took them up and presented them to her mistress, saying, ‘Martialis sent these with best greetings.’ ‘Which Martialis—there are two?’ asked Plautia, receiving them with a smile. ‘Why, Caius Martialis!’ replied the handmaiden in surprise. ‘Humph!’ ejaculated the lady, dropping the basket carelessly, almost flinging it on the table again. ‘They are not such as please me; take them yourself. Who is that without?’ ‘Glaucus, your freedman,’ answered a voice at the door, ‘with news!’ ‘Enter, Glaucus, with your news!’ cried the lady, relinquishing her outer cloaks and wraps to the care of Lydia, who retired. The freedman entered—a low thick‐set man, having a rough, but yet intelligent look about him. ‘Well,’ said the lady, warming herself at the fire, ‘what sort of news—private or public?’ ‘I have reason to think that, at present, it is pretty well private,’ replied the freedman, with an air of self‐satisfaction and importance, ‘but ere long it will be public enough, that is very certain. I have learned that the Prefect Sejanus has obtained Caesar’s consent to his marriage with Livia.’ Glaucus paused, as if to allow the lady to take breath and recover from the effects of his communication. ‘Well,’ said she, as unmoved as marble, ‘is that all?’ ‘All!’ echoed Glaucus, staggering back in astonishment and disgust. ‘Why, not half a score of people have yet heard a breath of it!’ Plautia burst into a fit of hearty laughter as she watched the fall of his countenance. ‘Psa, you fool!’ she said, ‘every one knew that the mighty Prefect was angling in the Imperial waters long ago. What reliance can I place on your information? Where did you get it?’ ‘In the camp itself, and from the lips of the Prefect’s own eunuch—Lygdus himself.’ ‘Truly he might be expected to know; but he is a cunning rogue.’ ‘He does know,’ said Glaucus, with increasing emphasis; ‘and what is more the Prefect has been summoned, or has been granted permission, to visit his bride at Capreae, and he is going accordingly in a few days.’ ‘Ah, that is something more to the purpose; that is twenty times worth the other, my Glaucus, for it looks like business.’