“Cornelia,” he continued, still grasping her arm, “we anger the gods, if we scorn their gifts--and to-day--now--I feel so bright, so well, so happy--the present smiles on me.--Cornelia, speak....” Cornelia made a hasty movement, and freed her arm from his clutch; he tottered. “It is suffocatingly hot!” he said, looking up at the lamp. “Air--give me air! Only for an instant. Parthenius, give me your arm as far as the balcony![107] the wine has bewildered me--or happiness--joy.... Come, Parthenius. Only for five minutes, and then, sweet Cornelia, one last cup to consecrate our meeting.” The chamberlain led him slowly away. Cornelia gazed after them like one dazed. Her face was bloodless. All the misery that this man had heaped upon her head, seemed to rise before her mind in that fearful moment: the relentless law to which Quintus was a victim, the exile of her venerated uncle, and the crushing, maddening disgrace which threatened her even now. She looked round her; the two slaves were standing with their backs to the table, and Phaeton had quitted the room. The next instant something bright sparkled in her trembling fingers; it was the phial she had received from the old woman. Just in front of her, full almost to the brim, stood the Emperor’s goblet. She bent forward and poured the contents of the phial, all but a few drops, into the purple wine. But at the same instant she started back with a loud scream; before her, in the door-way, she saw Phaeton’s pale face: he had seen all. The lad did not utter a word. He stared at the wine-cup as if paralyzed at the sight. A minute or two later Domitian and Parthenius returned. The Emperor went to his couch, without observing that Cornelia was lying half-senseless on hers. He was on the point of taking up the cup once more, and still the terrified boy found no utterance--but suddenly a shrill cry of anguish broke from him, and he threw himself at Caesar’s feet. “Do not drink, my lord!” he cried, wringing his hands. “The wine is poisoned. She, there--look! She still has the phial in her hand!” Domitian had turned ashy-pale; it was only too evident that the boy spoke the truth. “The guard! call the guard!” he shrieked in the voice of an old hag; his teeth chattered, and his jaw dropped. “Is it true,” Parthenius said, as Cornelia slowly pulled herself up, “what this boy says...?” “Yes,” she said with quivering lips. “I did what every woman, who deserves to be a Roman, would have done in my place. My honor is a thousand times more precious than that wretch’s life!” Phaeton had flown into the corridor to fetch the guard. That instant of respite gave Cornelia time to lift the poisoned goblet to her lips. But before she had tasted it, Parthenius sprang upon her, and, with an adroit twist, spilt the contents of the cup. “Serpent!” snarled Caesar, “you will not get off so cheaply, do not fancy it.”