“His decision could not be doubtful, I should suppose. By giving Scorpus leave to ask what he would, he pledged himself to grant his prayer. But how did he punish the howling mob that stormed around him? I too regret our sovereign’s connection with his niece, but what gives the populace the right to interfere in such matters?” “You know,” replied the other, “how tenderly these theatre and circus demonstrations have always been dealt with. Domitian, too, thought it prudent to smother his just anger and to show clemency. When the herald had once more restored order, Caesar said in a loud voice: ‘Granted,’ and left his seat. But he was deeply vexed, noble Claudius.” “Well and then?” asked the Flamen in anxious suspense. “Well, the matter is so far carried out, that in the secretary’s[149] room to-day an imperial decree was drawn up, calling upon Domitia[150] to return to her rooms on the Palatine, and granting her pardon for all past offences.” “And Julia?” “By Hercules!” laughed Clodianus. “With regard to Julia, Caesar made no promises.”[151] “Then I greatly fear, that this reconciliation will only prove the germ of farther complications.” “Very possibly. It has been the source of annoyance enough to me personally. Caesar is in the worst of humors. Do what you can to soothe him, noble Claudius. We all suffer under it....” “I will do all I can,” said the priest with a sigh. Clodianus noisily pushed back his chair. “Domitian is waiting for me,” he said as he jumped up. “Farewell, my illustrious friend. What times we live in now! How different things were only three or four years ago!” Claudius escorted him to the door with cool formality. The slaves and freedmen now came back again into the room, and ranged themselves silently in the background, and the “_nomenclator_,” the “namer,” whose duty it was to introduce unknown visitors, came at once to Claudius and said hesitatingly: “My lord, your son Quintus is waiting in the atrium and craves to be admitted.” A shade of vexation clouded the high-priest’s brow. “My son must wait,” he said decisively; “Quintus knows full well, that these morning hours belong neither to myself nor to my family.” And Quintus, the proud, spoilt and wilful Quintus, was forced to have patience. The Flamen went on calmly receiving his numerous friends, clients and petitioners, who retired from his presence cheerful or hanging their heads, according as they had met with a favorable or an unfavorable reception. Not till the last had vanished was his son admitted to see him. Quintus had meanwhile conquered his annoyance at the delay he had been compelled to brook, and offered his father his hand with an affectionate gesture; but Titus Claudius took no notice of his son’s advances. “You are unusually early,” he observed in icy tones, “or perhaps you are but just returning from some cheerful entertainment--so-called.”