The astrologer bowed his head in sullen resignation. He was led away to the field on the Esquiline, and immediately beheaded before an immense concourse; within an hour Domitian was informed that all was over. At this news his temper and spirit improved a little. He congratulated himself on the prompt decision, which had so signally proved the falsehood of the prophecy. At dinner he carried on an eager conversation with Latinus, the actor[4] who, among other farcical parts, filled the role of news-monger. “You are later than usual to-day,” said Caesar graciously. “What detained you?” “A most laughable occurrence,” replied the comedian. “By a mere chance I passed by the Esquiline. There, in the public field, an astrologer had just been executed. The dead body was still lying there, when a stranger came by with three huge dogs.[5] Before the slaves could prevent it, the three hounds had rushed upon the carcass and had torn it literally to bits. The dogs were killed at once with loud outcries; the owner had vanished completely. Immediately after, Clodianus came up to me and asked me if I had not seen the fellow, with a long red beard. One thing led to another, till your adjutant quitted me to make farther enquiries. I hastened hither and, as it was, arrived later than I ought.” The narrator had not observed, that every trace of color had faded out of the Emperor’s cheeks. As he ceased speaking, Domitian sprang up and, without saying a word, rushed out of the triclinium and into his own apartments. An intolerable dread almost deprived him of breath;[6] he ran like a hunted deer from one room to another, now shaking his fists in impotent fury, and again stopping to look suspiciously round him on every side. In this wretched frame of mind he was found by Julia, who had been seriously ill ever since the return of Domitia. In spite of the Empress’s commands, she had not yet quitted the palace. She came in, fevered and pale, to implore protection against her haughty rival, who had threatened to turn her into the street. The palace servants had tried to stop her at the entrance to Domitian’s apartments, but she had thrust them aside with the strength of desperation. At the sound of footsteps Domitian started and turned round. She stood before him--young, lovely, wretched--the victim of his remorseless passion. But the sight of her, far from stirring his pity, roused him to foaming rage. Was it not she, the abandoned creature, who had brought down on him the wrath of the gods? Was it not for her sake, that his blood was to be shed, if the astrologer had prophesied truly? And he had prophesied only too truly! His own end had borne witness to the truth of his mission. “Hussy!” yelled the Emperor. “Have you come to mock me? Are you plotting to murder me, that you come sneaking round me? It is your doing, and no one else is to blame if Caesar perishes in his blood...! Go, serpent! This very day quit Rome, or I will have you flogged through the gates.”