Domitian rose, went a few steps to meet him and kissed him. Never before had this traditional formality seemed so meaningless and hypocritical to the high-priest, and there was an expression of such diabolical satisfaction on Caesar’s face, that Titus Claudius for the first time felt an echo in his own mind of that public opinion, which he had hitherto so persistently rejected as prejudiced and unfair. What a smirk, what a suspicious play of features! Some new intrigue must have come in his way, some underhand transaction, and the high-priest's request might interfere with it! Titus Claudius had already had an inkling of this when, the day before, he had gained permission for Cornelia to visit the prison. It almost looked as though Caesar had kept the adjutant and the chamberlain about him, that their presence might be a preservative against any possible fit of amiability and weakness. “And what have you to say, my worthy Claudius?” asked Caesar, with cool formality. The high-priest looked him steadily and respectfully in the face. “My lord,” he replied with much dignity, “I have again come to crave a favor. I do not know whether you have heard--my son’s betrothed, stricken it would seem with sudden frenzy ...” “I am informed of her crime,” Domitian interrupted. “I pity you sincerely, but I cannot and ought not to weaken the arm of the law.” Titus Claudius turned pale. “My lord,” he began, drawing a painful breath, “I have come only to prevent the law from degenerating into blind cruelty. The law condemns the Nazarenes, but not a crazed girl who, in her desperate grief, feigns belief in their errors. Inform yourself my lord ...” “The law judges of facts,” Caesar threw in, “and not of feelings. None but the gods can read the soul. Besides, how can you prove what you assert?” “I will attest it by the most solemn oaths. I know, for certain, that Cornelia loathes the superstitions of the Nazarenes. My lord, Titus Claudius sues only for her, not for--the other. That may guarantee the honesty of my purpose. If I could only stoop to lie--it would be for him, and not for the niece of Cornelius Cinna.” His lips quivered as he spoke, and Clodianus looked with sympathy at the man, lately so erect and haughty, now bent, his head drooping, his spirit crushed. Even Parthenius, cold as he was, felt that momentary qualm, of which a father’s heart is conscious in seeing another parent suffer. Domitian alone was unmoved. “I have no doubt, Claudius, that you speak the truth,” he said with affected benevolence, “but my personal convictions have no right to speak, when the safety of the State is involved. And that safety would be endangered, if I were to yield to my feelings and to your wish, which so far, it is true, I can only guess. Is the city-prefect to set the prisoner free, that she may proclaim in every street: I am a Christian, but Titus Claudius has procured my pardon!...? You see, circumstances are too strong for me.”