Amid the legions in Gaul and in the palaces of Syria she had passed with her husband the last years of his life. She had once been gentle, with a sweet disposition and a peaceful face. The six years of her widowhood had embittered her life. Her face was now impassive and determined, her eyes piercing and melancholy, her mouth nervous and firm. “The Mother of the Camp,” as the soldiers had honorably addressed her, the proud mother of nine children, and the descendant of a family that had been pronounced divine, would not bow her princely pride before the vulgar and domineering son of Livia. Although nearly crushed by disaster, yet she bravely and imperiously carried herself through all her tribulations. With her six children she lived in a small house that Germanicus had built near the Temple of Jupiter Victor on the Palatine Hill. Alongside and connected to the house by a crypto-porticus was the sumptuous palace erected by Tiberius. The contrast between the imposing palace of Tiberius and the small house of the daughter of divine ancestors aroused in the Roman people sarcastic criticism. The house of Germanicus[3] was divided into two parts,--one for the reception of friends and clients, the other for family life. The part where the family lived consisted of two stories. The first story was on a level with the street, which bordered it on three sides. In this story were the sleeping, dressing, and bath rooms. The servants occupied the story above. These stories were connected to the part where friends were received by a narrow staircase, which opened into the rectangular atrium, sunk considerably below the level of the street. On one of the long sides of the atrium were three halls or rooms; on the other the vestibule, which was the only entrance to the house. The vestibule connected with the crypto-porticus that led to the Palace of Tiberius. On one of the short sides of the atrium was the dining-room; the other was a plain wall. Near it was an altar that held the family gods. In the largest of the three rooms opposite the vestibule Agrippina was reclining one morning on a richly covered couch. Her son Drusus was seated at her head, on a Syrian rug, which partly covered the mosaic floor. A few days had elapsed since the terrible death of Drusus, the son of the emperor. The lad Drusus was a graceful lad of fifteen. He had an unhappy face, with dull black eyes, a large mouth, with thick lips. He had just returned from the palace on the Esquiline and had thrown himself near his mother to report what he had seen there. “Is thy grandmother, Antonia, still at the palace?” asked Agrippina. “Ay, my mother; Julia has not left her room since her father’s death.” “Is she ill?” asked the mother. “Not seriously,” answered Drusus. “Verily, I must go and see her. And how is thy aunt Livilla?” “She smiled at me,” replied the youth. “Truly, no one laments my uncle’s death but his daughter Julia. Even thou, O mother, art not sad.”