She rose and led the way to a side chamber. Stephanus followed. The fairy-like fittings of the beautiful room had exercised an intoxicating charm over the senses even of a spoilt courtier like Stephanus. The whole boudoir was like a luxurious bouquet--walls, floor, ceiling were all hung and covered with diaphanous rose-colored stuff, on which sparkling stones were sprinkled like dew-drops. A tender twilight and the heady scent of roses completed the irresistible witchery of the scene. The beautiful creature, who stood in the midst of all this dazzling splendor, with her white arms faintly tinged with the rosy reflection, and her flowing drapery clinging closely to the grand forms of her limbs, might, without any great effort of fancy, have been taken for Aphrodite, the goddess of love, incarnate in this adorable person. Stephanus breathed hard; the empress sank on to a rose-colored couch, and beckoned him to approach. “Now,” she said graciously, “we are alone, proceed.” “Sovereign lady,” said Stephanus, hardly possessed of all his senses, “my duty.... An hour ago your humble servant was with Lycoris. She ... I know not how ... but lately we have met with some obstacle ... it was only with the greatest difficulty that I succeeded.... The chamberlain is this evening to be her guest.... She promised me ... but she made conditions....” “It matters not,” said Domitia. “You will strain every nerve to engage Parthenius on our side, I know, and that is enough for me. The details I trust to your acumen. If you do not succeed the first time, you will try again. A failure, even a blunder, needs no excuses. You have my unlimited confidence.” “I am overwhelmed by the greatness of your favors.” He bowed to the ground and humbly kissed the hem of her robe, which fell in ample folds, leaving a small part of her sandal and snowy foot bare. A strange mixture of pain and triumph lurked in her eyes, as the thought flashed through her mind: Ah, why, hapless, adoring wretch, are you not Quintus? But then a terrible satisfaction gained the upperhand; her lips moved as she swore to herself an unspoken vow--she clenched her fist as though she held a dagger--a dagger for hatred and revenge. Stephanus could not know, that at that moment she had formed a sinister resolve. “Nay--not that!” she whispered insinuatingly, as Stephanus rose again. “That is service to the gods. Among friends a frank and honest hand-shake....” As she spoke she offered the astonished steward the tips of her fingers. He looked into her eyes like one dazed. What a change! This unapproachable woman, this divinity--till this hour so cold and repellent, was now all melting softness, dreamy and tender graciousness. “Adored lady!” he groaned, pressing her hand to his pale lips. “Kill me, but I can no longer conceal it! Death would be bliss as compared with the torment of silence. Glorious Domitia--more beautiful than Cypria herself--I love you!”