During the year her son Nero had married Julia, the daughter of Livilla, and had left the small house on the Palatine Hill, moving into the palace that belonged to his uncle Drusus, on the Esquiline. Her second son, Drusus, had assumed the manly robes, and having married Aemelia Lepida, a descendant of an illustrious family, lived in a palace on the Quirinal. Agrippina, her oldest daughter, had been given in marriage to a brutal and villanous man, Cneius Domitius. The bitter seeds of hatred that Sejanus had sown in the hearts of her sons had now matured, and the brothers had become violent enemies. With infernal art the malicious minister had even succeeded in breaking through the reserve with which Agrippina had received him. Tormented by the discord engendered in her family and by the sufferings of her friends, the poor woman had become dangerously ill. She was now convalescing, and was permitted to receive short visits from her friends. Always alert, and never losing a chance to advance his cause, Sejanus was the first to visit the convalescent. When he called, Agrippina was resting upon a _cathedra_ in the atrium. Her face was pale and thin, her eyes were still piercing and melancholy. Although weakened by her illness, she still bore herself proudly. She languidly returned the greeting of the minister. “Have I the honor to be the first among thy friends to call on thee, O woman favored of the gods?” “I have no friends,” she coldly replied. “Truly thou hast suffered!” he exclaimed. “Ay,” she slowly replied. “Thou art better?” he asked. “My body is better; my mind worse.” “Thy body should then control thy mind,” said Sejanus. “Would that my mind controlled my body! Then would my body die.” “But thou hast suffered pain. Convalescence is a new birth, and thou wilt find life happier when thou art stronger. A trip to Velletri or Baiae would benefit thee. Wilt thou not go to Baiae?” “A prisoner doth not choose his cell.” “What dost thou mean, O Agrippina?” “The mind tied to this body is freer than Agrippina is in her own home, watched by such a vigilant jailer.” “I do not understand thee,” said Sejanus, who comprehended her meaning only too well. “Have words lost their meaning since I have been ill, O Sejanus?” “Art thou still distrustful?” he asked reproachfully. “I trust no one,” she impressively responded. “What if the emperor should leave Rome?” he said, as he watched her closely. Agrippina did not move a muscle. “He has daily been threatening for a year to leave the city,” she said. “Ay; but I believe he will go shortly.” “Well?” “If he leaves Rome he may never return.” “Well?” “Friends may become friends again.” “And what then?” “While the emperor is away great events may happen.” “I do not understand thee,” she faltered. “Have words lost their meaning since thou hast been ill?” he asked, quoting her own words with an evil smile. “If the emperor leaves Rome will blood cease to flow?” she asked.