And he drew her once more to his breast, and kissed her passionately. Aurelius and Claudia had behaved with far greater coolness and propriety. Behind this moderation, it is true, lurked an unrest which now and again betrayed itself in small details. As the Batavian, by way of opening the conversation, tried to paint the particular beauties of the autumn season, a faint flush mounted to his brow, and Claudia made some observations on the noble dimensions of three pumpkins in a voice that trembled, as though she were craving some favor from Caesar. Both were in that mood of self-conscious confusion, which is peculiar to lovers in anticipation of an important explanation. And Claudia was still more obviously embarrassed, when Caius Aurelius observed that such gourds grew at Trajectum too. “It might happen,” he went on after a pause, “that circumstances might require me to return home sooner, than I at first intended....” Claudia pulled the leaves off an olive-branch. “That would be a pity,” she said in a constrained tone. Then she colored, and went on eagerly: “For, in fact, many interesting features of our metropolis are still unknown to you.” “Oh,” replied Aurelius, “I am not particularly devoted to seeing features of interest. What I far more regret, is taking leave of so many excellent friends, so many hospitable houses where I have passed hours of delightful intercourse, and heard so many noble ideas....” “Ah, yes, of course,” said Claudia, breaking the olive-twig into little pieces. The Batavian sighed. “Above all,” he went on, “I can never forget how kindly your illustrious father received me....” “Oh!” exclaimed Claudia. “And your mother.... You cannot imagine how deeply I reverence that noble matron, how grateful I am to her for allowing me daily admission and intimacy in her house. Ah! sweet mistress, how happy I have been in that family circle! Your brother, I may venture to believe, has become my best and truest friend; even Lucilia, who generally is so severely critical, has not been unkind to me.... You may laugh at me, but I swear to you, that when I am forced to leave I shall leave a piece of my heart behind!” Claudia looked down and walked on in silence, her hand shook. “Madam,” the young man went on, and his voice trembled with agitation, “when I am gone--forever, when miles of land and sea divide us--will you sometimes think with kindness of the stranger....? Will you recall the hour in which we met, our happy days at Baiae, and this blissful time in Rome...?” “Indeed I shall,” Claudia murmured almost inaudibly.