Pratinas was evidently just concluding a series of remarks.

“And so, my friends, amici, as we say at Rome,” he was jauntily vapouring, “I regret indeed that the atomic theory,—­which my good Ahenobarbus, I am sure, holds in common with myself,—­can leave us no hope of meeting in a future world, where I can expect to win any more of his good sesterces with loaded dice.  But let him console himself!  He will shortly cease from any pangs of consciousness that our good friend Quintus Drusus will, in all probability, enjoy the fortune that he has inherited from his father, and marry the lady for whose hand the very noble Ahenobarbus for some time disputed.  Therefore let me wish you both a safe voyage to the kingdom of Hades; and if you need money for the ferryman, accept now, as always, the use of my poor credit.”

“May all the infernal gods requite you!” broke forth Lentulus, half rising, and uplifting his fettered hands to call down a solemn curse.

“It has been often observed by philosophers,” said Pratinas, with a smile, “that even among the most sceptical, in times of great extremity, there exists a certain belief in the existence of gods.  Your excellency sees how the observation is confirmed.”

“The gods blast you!” howled Lentulus, in impotent fury.  Before further words could pass, Cornelia put Pratinas aside, and entered the cell.

“Your presence, sir,” she said haughtily, to the Hellene, “is needed no longer.”  And she pointed down the gallery.

Pratinas flushed, hesitated as if for once at a loss, and nimbly vanished.  Lentulus sat in speechless astonishment “Uncle,” continued Cornelia, “what may I do for you?  I did not know till last evening that you were here.”

But ere the other could reply the figure in the corner had sprung up, and flung itself at the lady’s feet.

“Save me! save me!  By all that you hold dear, save my life!  I have loved you.  I thought once that you loved me.  Plead for me!  Pray for me!  Anything that I may but live!”

“Vah, wretch!” cried the consular; and he spurned Ahenobarbus with his foot.  “It is indeed well that you have not married into family of mine!  If you can do naught else, you can at least die with dignity as becomes a Roman patrician—­and not beg intercession from this woman who has cut herself off from all her kin by disobedience.”

“Uncle,” cried Cornelia in distress, “must we be foes to the end?  Must our last words be of bitterness?”

“Girl,” thundered the unbending Lentulus, “when a Roman maiden disobeys, there is no expiation.  You are no niece of mine.  I care not how you came here.  I accept nothing at your hands.  I will not hear your story.  If I must die, it is to die cursing your name.  Go!  I have no more words for you!”

But Ahenobarbus caught the skirt of Cornelia’s robe, and pleaded and moaned.  “Let them imprison him in the lowest dungeons, load him with the heaviest fetters; place upon him the most toilsome labour—­only let him still see the light and breathe the air!”