“Mehercle! And do you wish to have all your exploits crowded into a few short years of youth, that mature age will have nothing to surpass?  Listen,—­I believe that when the historians, by whom our dear Cicero is so anxious to be remembered favourably, write their books, they will say something of my name,—­good or bad, the Genius knows,—­but fame at least will not be denied me.  Twelve years ago when I was in Spain I was reading in some book of the exploits of Alexander the Great.  Suddenly it seemed as though I could not control myself.  I began to weep; and this was the explanation I gave to my friends, ’I have just cause to weep, when I consider that Alexander at my age had conquered so many nations, and I have all this time done nothing that is memorable.’”

“But even when your excellency went into Spain,” remarked Drusus, “you had done that which should have given renown.  Consider, you had won the praetorship, the office of Pontifex Maximus—­”

“St,” interrupted the proconsul, “a list of titles is not a pledge from Fortune that she will grant fame.  Besides, I was about to add—­what folly it was for me to weep!  Do I imagine now, that Alexander was happy and contented in the midst of his conquests?  Rather, unless he were, indeed, of more than mortal stuff, for every morsel of fame, he paid a talent of care and anxiety.  Rush not too quickly after fame; only with age comes the strength to pay the price thereof.”

Drusus was half wondering at, half admiring, the unconscious comparison the proconsul was drawing between himself and Alexander.  But Caesar went on:—­

“But you, O Drusus, have not dealt honestly with me, in that you have failed to tell that which lies nearest your heart, and which you consider the pivot of all your present life.”

Drusus flushed.  “Doubtless, your excellency will pardon a young man for speaking with diffidence on a subject, to recollect which is to cause pain.”

Caesar put off the half-careless air of the good-natured wit, which he had been affecting.

“Quintus Livius Drusus,” and as he spoke, his auditor turned as if magnetized by his eye and voice, and hung on every word, “be not ashamed to own to me, of all men, that you claim a good woman’s love, and for that love are ready to make sacrifice.”

And as if to meet a flitting thought in the other’s mind, Caesar continued:—­

“No, blush not before me, although the fashionable world of Rome will have its stories.  I care not enough for such gossip to take pains to say it lies.  But this would I have declared, when at your age, and let all the world hear, that I, Caius Caesar, loved honourably, purely, and worthily; and for the sake of that love would and did defy death itself.”

The proconsul’s pale face flushed with something very akin to passion; his bright eyes were more lustrous than ever.