“Uncle, Lucius, I am here.”  And before them, standing illumined in the panel of sunlight, stood Cornelia.  Ahenobarbus had never seen her so beautiful before.  She wore a flowing violet-tinted stola, that tumbled in soft, silky flounces down to her ankles, and from beneath it peered the tint of her shapely feet bound to thin sandals by bright red ribbons.  Her bare rounded arms were clasped above and below the elbow and at the wrists by circlets shaped as coiled serpents, whose eyes were gleaming rubies.  At her white throat was fastened a necklace of interlinked jewel-set gold pendants that shimmered on her half-bare shoulders and breast.  In each ear was the lustre of a great pearl.  Her thick black hair fell unconfined down her back; across her brow was a frontlet blazing with great diamonds, with one huge sapphire in their midst.  As she stood in the sunlight she was as a goddess, an Aphrodite descended from Olympus, to drive men to sweet madness by the ravishing puissance of her charms.

“Cornelia!” cried Lucius, with all the fierce impure admiration of his nature welling up in his black heart, “you are an immortal!  Let me throw my arms about you!  Let me kiss you!  Kiss your neck but once!” And he took a step forward.

“Be quiet, Lucius,” said Cornelia, speaking slowly and with as little passion as a sculptured marble endued with the powers of speech.  “We have other things to talk of now.  That is why I have called you here; you and my uncle.”

“Cornelia!” exclaimed the young man, shrinking back as though a sight of some awful mystery had stricken him with trembling reverence, “why do you look at me so?  Why do your eyes fasten on me that way?  What are you going to do?”

It was as if he had never spoken.  Cornelia continued steadily, looking straight before her.

“Uncle, is it your wish that I become the wife of Lucius Ahenobarbus?”

“You know it is,” replied Lentulus, a little uneasily.  He could not see where this bit of affection on the part of his niece would end.  He had never heard her speak in such a tone before.

“I think, uncle,” went on Cornelia, “that before we say anything further it will be well to read this letter.  It was sent to me, but both you and Lucius will find it of some interest.”  And she held out two or three wax tablets.

Lentulus took them, eager to have done with the by-play.  But when he saw on the binding-cords the seal—­which, though broken, still showed its impression—­he gave a start and exclamation.

“Perpol! The seal of Sextus Flaccus, the great capitalist.”

“Certainly, why should it not be from him?”

Lentulus stepped nearer to the light, and read:  Lucius standing by and hanging on every word, Cornelia remaining at her previous station rigid as the bronze faun on the pedestal at her elbow.  Lentulus read:—­

“Sextus Fulvius Flaccus, to the most noble lady Cornelia:—­