“Dost thou recall the day we met her with Gyges in the summer garden near the Temple of Bacchus?” “Ay; ’twas on that day she was arrested. She appeared sad; dost thou remember?” “I have forgotten.” “She was the prettiest dancer in the Theatre.” “Except thee.” “She was all grace and refinement.” “Too pure, Merope.” “She was betrothed to Gyges.” “Ay; he disappeared at the same time. Was he arrested?” “I know not. He drives no more at the Circus.” “Psyche was to have danced her last time at the spectacles given by Nero.” “Ay; but Elea danced well at the games given by Drusus,” said Sabinus. “Elea cannot dance the rôles that Psyche used to portray. But does not Drusus marry shortly?” “He marries this very day, Merope.” “Who will his bride be?” she asked. “Aemelia Lepida.” “Ah! Wealth always marries wealth.” “Ay, Merope; but wealth creates envy; envy leads to death and confiscations.” “The Acropolis! The Acropolis!” shouted a sailor, pointing to a white speck that glistened like pure snow on one of the hills directly ahead. Springing to their feet, the passengers looked at that inspiring sight with the same eagerness with which a sibyl would gaze upon a sacred revelation. Chapter XV When depressed with distrust, when oppressed with suspicion, and when burdened with discontent, the heart looks to the future, from which it hopes to drink the nectar of peace. But the golden chalice from which Agrippina had hoped to drink the blessings of peace had become a brazen cup filled with intense and increasing bitterness. Over twelve months had elapsed since her beloved son Nero had reached the manly age; and each month had brought with it fresh disaster. So undermined had her courage become that, when alone, her soul, in terrible silence, listened and awaited the next calamity without a respiration. She trembled at the movements of the wings of her imagination, at the fall of the withered leaves of her hope, at the overflowing drops from the fountain of her grief. The parched lips of her soul craved a cool spring from which they might drink of peaceful strength. She longed for a strong arm that would help her carry her burdens, for a confiding friend who would direct her thoughts and actions, and for a tender heart that would reciprocate her affection. For these things did she strenuously seek as a grand oak in the dark earth gropes for strength and sustenance. At times, so enshrouded was she by her danger that the sun and moon appeared to vanish, the world to disappear, and the stars to melt away. Through the profound darkness of this oblivion a beautiful face would sometimes glow and deceive her. It seemed the face of hope. On close scrutiny she would see around this face vipers and snakes. It was the head of Medusa. With her blood congealed by terror, Agrippina would try to close the eyes of her imagination, but the face of the horrible gorgon would still be before her, turning into stones both her thoughts and her actions.