Domitia’s features did not show a shade of feeling, and Polycharma glanced in terror at the expressionless face, for not the twinkle of an eyelash, not a twitch of the lips, betrayed what emotion might have been roused by this explanation. “You are mistaken,” replied the Empress after a long pause. “My steward is a faithful servant, and his zeal and devotion are seen by your youthful fancy in a too poetical light.--Go, have done with your foolish imaginings; take your lute, and sing me one of your gayest songs.” The girl retired a little distance, and an arch smile lighted up her shrewd little face. She fetched the cithara out of its carved case and returned, lightly tuning the strings. “Some one is knocking,” she said pausing, and she went to the door. “What is it? You know, Strato, that our mistress does not choose to be disturbed.” A short whispered colloquy was carried on outside the curtain, that hung before the entrance; then Polycharma came to announce that Stephanus begged an audience on a matter of great importance. Domitia did not at once reply. Then she suddenly looked up, as if struck by some new idea. “Desire him to come in,” she said eagerly. “Polycharma, leave us together.” The same meaning smile again parted the girl’s lips. She quietly leaned the lute against the wall and hastened to the door, where she lifted the curtain with mock exaggeration of respect and let the steward pass in front of her. Then she slipped out, shut and fastened the door and joined two other slave-girls, who were sitting in the anteroom on red leather cushions, and carrying on a laughing flirtation with a flaxen-haired Sicambrian belonging to the praetorian guard. Stephanus stood just within the door and bowed low. It was difficult to recognize in him the cool and unblenching man, never at a loss in his perfect knowledge of court manners and gossip, and accomplished in the arts of intrigue. In Domitia’s presence the freedman was a slave again; all his presence of mind, all the easy demeanor he had acquired in the school of life, he had left outside that door. The man, who went forward in obedience to a nod from the Empress, was a servile, creeping slave, a pitiable wretch, who tried in vain to find utterance. “What ails you?” asked the Empress with a fascinating smile. “You look as pale as if you had lain awake all night. I fear your zeal prompts you to work too hard.” “Gracious mistress,” replied Stephanus, “I am distressed indeed if I intrude....” “I am always ready to listen to the faithful servant, who toils for me so devotedly. What brings you here, Stephanus?” The freedman was startled; if he had read aright Polycharma’s cunning glance, this reception promised him such happiness, that the mere thought of it turned him giddy. “You hesitate,” the Empress went on. “I understand--you fear lest there should be listeners in the anteroom. Your errand is serious and important.”