“You take the matter too hardly,” he said, raising her politely. “Be brave, and divest yourself of all prejudice. The situation is a simple one. Your lover has fallen under the law; what then can you lose, by raising the veil of maidenly coyness a little? Moreover, a thoughtless speech has placed you in a position to fear unpleasant consequences. These of course will be spared, if you show yourself amenable to--reason. Nay, if for old attachment’s sake, you feel any strong desire to save that perverse Quintus Claudius from the last extremity, even in this--I am well assured--Caesar’s clemency may be easily obtained if--of course.... You understand.” At every word, that Parthenius spoke, Cornelia turned colder and paler. The choice, then, that lay before her was between the last disgrace, that could befall a woman and a Roman--and the death of the man she loved, ah! so passionately. Both were alike unbearable--and now, as this was borne in upon her consciousness, she felt clearly that a third alternative must at any risk be attempted--even if it were the maddest ever dreamed of by mortal creature. And for that she must gain time; she must detain Caesar, put him off, seem to fall into his horrible trap, deceive him, entangle him.--Some good genius would suggest to her how, where, and when the chance for safety offered. Despair is so ingenious, and makes us so cool, so steady, so keen-sighted. Parthenius supposed that Cornelia’s calm reflections were the result of his worldly-wise harangue. “Yes, my child,” he went on, “that is how matters stand, and you will do well to reckon with the factors as they are given you. Do you think you know Rome, my good Cornelia? Nay--you only know the narrow, cross-grained, little world, that your uncle chose you should see. If you had eyes for all that goes on round you, you would make no difficulties. Did not Julia enjoy the most splendid position, although her connection with Caesar was a breach of morals, as it is called? Is there anywhere in good society a single married woman, who has not a dozen of lovers? And do the clients and slaves bow less low before her? Men must live their lives.” Cornelia’s heart sickened in loathing of the man, but she looked him steadily in the face. “What?” she asked with affected innocence; “would it, do you think, be no sin before the gods...?” “The gods! What are the gods? Are you afraid of the image you stitch into linen with colored yarn? And what you call the gods are just such images, in the web of human culture. Children are frightened at them, when you show them the bogie for the first time....”