[96] A HERALD NOW PROCLAIMED SILENCE. The herald (_praeco_) was in the habit of shouting to the crowd: “_Favete linguis!_” [97] A MIXTURE OF WINE, SPRING-WATER, INCENSE, AND CONES. The libation with which the victim was consecrated to death was called _immolatio_. CHAPTER XIII. Eight days had gone by since the events related in the last chapter. A chill cloud hung over the house of Claudia, the sources of life seemed ice-bound. All intercourse with the outer world was restricted to what was absolutely necessary; the inhabitants crept and glided about like speechless ghosts. Titus Claudius fulfilled the duties of his office with stern regularity, but without unction, dully and mechanically. His son’s name never passed his lips, and yet every one felt that one hideous thought was ever present to his mind. It was the same with the two girls. All brightness, all youthfulness had deserted them, particularly Claudia, who had borne her own hard fate with such steadfast hopefulness. Octavia alone clung unshaken to her conviction, that her husband, whose irresistible strength of will had proved victorious in so many contests, would, even in this bitter strait, find a solution and an issue. It was still early, but two hours after sunrise, and Octavia was sitting in silent abstraction with her two daughters, in the snug little room where--so short a time since--Caius Aurelius had read to them the Thebais of Statius. Cornelia, too, was with them; she was sitting pale and listless near the door, and listening for a step in the hall. She was waiting till the high-priest should come in from attending Caesar’s _levée_ and presenting a petition to him. Since the day when Quintus had been taken back to the Tullianum, Cornelia had never ceased to implore to be admitted to the dungeon, where she thought she could bend her lover’s obduracy; for she was convinced that nothing but a proud spirit of defiance had prompted his retractation at the last moment. “You do not know how to coax and entreat him,” she had said to the high-priest. “Your very requests sound like commands, and leave a sting in his wounded pride. But I am a woman, his betrothed; I love him, and I will implore him! His heart will soften, as soon as he hears my voice.” She had thus persuaded Titus Claudius, who, though he felt that Cornelia did not fully understand his son’s character, thought he ought not to neglect this last possibility. But unluckily he met with unexpected hindrances. The governor of the prison, supported by higher authority, positively refused her admission, and the priest's declaration that he would take all the responsibility on his own shoulders, produced no effect whatever.