He fell at the feet of the haughty sovereign, as though stunned by his own audacity, and leaned his forehead on her footstool. His brow by chance touched her foot, which she hastily withdrew with an involuntary gesture of aversion. But again a gleam of triumphant delight passed over her features. “Stand up,” she said, dissimulating her excitement. “Your confession has taken away my breath. I hardly know whether I should be angry, or whether this heart--too tender, alas!--should forgive your boldness. You love me! It sounds sweetly simple, like the greeting of a friend--but think out the whole meaning of that short and simple word, and tell me then, if you do not tremble like a pine tree before the gale. Love craves for a return--answer me, Stephanus, do you esteem yourself so favored by the gods, as to dare to hope for Domitia’s favors?” The freedman had slowly risen to his feet. His thin hair, artificially darkened, hung loosely over his throbbing temples; his eyes were fixed and glazed. “I know,” he said in hollow tones, “that I am unworthy of your grace. But the gods themselves choose blindly, without any regard for merit and worth. Their mercies are dispensed blindfold--not only Ares the slayer, but the humble Anchises[285]....” “Enough!” said Domitia, who fancied she could still feel the hot, bald forehead against her foot. “If the gods have chosen, you need entreat no more. Listen to me, Stephanus. I too will be gracious--Call it a whim or sympathetic tenderness, as you please;--it is all the same.--You shall clasp the Empress in your arms and be happy, Stephanus--on one single condition you shall realize your dream. But it will require the utmost exertion of your talents....” Stephanus heard no more; overpowered by this dazzling vision of happiness, he had fallen back on one of the rose-colored seats. His head thrown back, his eyes closed, he lay a pitiable image of human passion and weakness. The haze of unconsciousness veiled the strange and erratic brain, that was so unceasingly tossed and torn by cruelty, ambition, avarice, and sensual greed. The corpse-like figure, in its long Tarentine _toga_, was an object of unutterable horror in the beauty-loving eyes of Domitia--the sharp chin, the eagle nose, the hard, fleshless brow, now no longer vivified by the sparkle of the fiery eyes, all filled her excited senses with the horror, that blooming and joyous youth feels for the bony hand of a skeleton. She almost repented of her decision. Still, the recollection of Quintus, gave her strength to deny herself the craving of her inmost nature, and to persist in the road she had set out on. Perhaps, too, she had a lurking hope that she might cheat the tool of her vengeance, of the promised reward. The steward did not remain unconscious more than a minute; when he opened his eyes, Domitia was mistress of herself and the situation. With her right hand she commanded silence.