“Rome is ours. More than half the Praetorian guard have sworn fidelity to Cocceius Nerva. The Palatium was invested an hour ago. You shall hear it all, but oh! my senses are reeling...! Forward, men, make way.--Oh, Quintus I who could have foreseen all this, only last autumn...?” Quintus, tottering like a drunken man, went up the steps into the sweet night air, and Cornelia followed, half carried by their preserver; but when she presently drew herself up and walked on in the torch-light, her black hair all loose and gently stirred by the wind, her dress torn and stained, and so stately in spite of it all, her presence touched the heart even of her rough guards. In the Forum they found a tremendous uproar. A strong division of the troops guarded every entrance to the Palatium; others, and among them many of the Praetorian guard, were being sent to various parts of the city, to defend the most important strategic points against any plans of their opponents; at the same time the mob came streaming in from every quarter, shouting, shrieking and wasting its breath in questions. Close by the Arch of Titus, Clodianus sat on horseback in the midst of a madly-excited crowd. “Yes, citizens,” he shouted in stentorian tones, “the tyrant reigns no more. Too long indeed have we endured the humiliating yoke, but now we have shaken it off. Those, who have acted for you, are grateful to you for your unanimous and noble enthusiasm, and Nerva, _Imperator_ will show his thankfulness by doubling the gifts of corn for the next year.” “Long live Nerva, the father of his country!” they shouted in chorus. But it was not only the capricious proletariat, who joined in; more eager and joyful still were the better classes of the citizens, even up to the knights and the few senators who, in their uncertainty as to the issue, found courage enough to express their opinion. “Romans!” Clodianus went on. “Never fear, that the handful of mercenaries, who defend the Palatium, can imperil our work this day. The legions of the Propraetor of Lugdunensis are already on their way hither, by forced marches from Clusium. Before the sun has twice set, they will be before the walls of Rome. Go and tell all your friends, who still hesitate, that he himself will march in with the Propraetor; Nerva, the choice of the people, the divine Emperor.” “Long live Nerva! long live Clodianus!” shouted a hundred voices at once. It was with great difficulty, that Aurelius could make a way for the released couple through the dense throng. “Where are we going?” asked Quintus, who had scarcely been able to speak a word. “To your father’s house.” “Miserable man!” groaned Quintus, bending his face on to his friend's shoulder. “What must he not have suffered?” And thus they made their way slowly, like a funeral procession, to the house of Titus Claudius.