The day wore on to midnight. In a gorgeously furnished apartment Sejanus again proudly reclines. A satyr-faced lamp burns on a slender bronze pedestal. Nymphs, fauns, and nereids in fantastic attitudes gleam from the shadowy niches in the walls like dancing sprites. Red and yellow oriental silks, carelessly thrown over the chairs, look in the sallow light like tongues of flame. An odor of incense pervades the room. Everything suggests the lower world, and seems like an incantation to the spirits of evil. Sejanus is happy. The castles-in-the-air which he had so laboriously designed a year ago have now become actual realities. He looks into the past. He sees a man who was a knight with few friends, with few clients. That man was Sejanus. He sees a man leading soldiers, gathering them into one building and becoming more prominent every day. That man was Sejanus. He sees a man respected by the emperor, advanced to almost equal honors, acclaimed by the Roman Senate and people. That man was Sejanus. He looks into the future. He sees a man sitting on a curule chair, receiving petitions and imperiously granting requests. That man is Sejanus. He finally sees, ruling the world, one man who has reached the highest possible place for mortal man. That man is the Emperor Sejanus! On the path of his advancement he has left the corpses of some trivial common people, the dead bodies of the heir Drusus and the Prince Nero. With the eye of his mind he sees along his triumphal road the faces of Tiberius, Agrippina, Drusus, and Caligula--pale and rigid in death. No one now stands between him and the throne. The culmination of his triumph is reached. His foot is raised to take the final step. He takes from a table a golden cup, and with infinite satisfaction quaffs a toast to the genius who presides over his destiny. The next morning, surrounded by a host of suitors and clients, he proceeds to the Senate House. On his way he is slighted by many of the Senators. He hears suppressed cries of “Murderer,” “Usurper.” Noticing that among the people a decided change has taken place, the suitors and clients, one by one, gradually excuse themselves. When the great minister arrives at the door of the Senate House, he is attended by only his guards and Macro. The soldiers are stationed at the door; Macro and Sejanus enter. The Conscript Fathers, in their soft and majestic woolen togas bordered with purple, have already entered upon the day’s routine. They rise and bow, as Sejanus takes his seat amongst them. Macro stations himself near the raised platform on which the consul is seated.