Titus Claudius applied to the city-prefect, but a long discussion only led to the same result. Some one, it was evident, must have an interest in the complete isolation of the illustrious prisoner, and that some one must be of exalted rank. A visit to Clodianus was equally unsuccessful. Indeed, the adjutant displayed a rough and uncompromising severity, which was startling in a man who was not wont to deal thus with persons of position and influence, and the Flamen quitted him in high wrath. The meeting seemed to have resulted in a lasting coolness, not to say hostility, between the two officials. But this step, too, on the adjutant’s part was the result of calculation. If Caesar should hear of the matter--and he was certain to hear of it, for there were witnesses present--he could no longer doubt the devotion of his faithful Clodianus. He, at least, was a true and trustworthy servant, who would rather make an enemy of the powerful high-priest, than abridge by one iota the laws and interests of the State, which in the present instance were so surprisingly identical with the private interests of Caesar himself. On leaving Clodianus, Titus Claudius betook himself to the chamberlain Parthenius. Still the same refusal, though wrapped here in the utmost politeness and reverence--but it could not be, it was simply impossible. If in anything else Parthenius could oblige his illustrious friend, he would devote himself to the cause with all the indefatigable zeal he had before now displayed in the service of a man so highly venerated, world-renowned and distinguished. After two or three more attempts to interest influential personages in the matter, the high-priest resolved on laying his request before Caesar himself, though it went hard with him to appear as a petitioner in his own behalf. And now, for the past half-hour he had been waiting at the palace. The family, and particularly Cornelia, awaited his return with eager anxiety, and at every step on the pavement the excited girl started and shivered. Her hands clutched the arms of her seat; her breath came quickly, and her face was as white as marble. If this last chance failed! Alas, and Cornelia had only too much reason to regard failure as certain! Domitian, that incarnation of hatred and revenge--it was too much to hope for! Domitian, whom she had scorned and humiliated, as a queen might treat a slave--was it likely that he would allow her to save the man she loved? And yet, if anyone could wring this permission from the tyrant by the mere weight of personal influence, it was the Flamen.