And so the good woman talked, giving to Drusus her own pure faith and hope and courage; and when the intellectual philosopher within him revolted at some of her simple premises and guileless sophistries, against his will he was persuaded by them, and was fain to own to himself that the heart of a good woman is past finding out; that its impulses are more genuine, its intuitions truer, its promptings surer, than all the fine-spun intellectuality of the most subtle metaphysician.  When at last Drusus rose to leave his aunt, his face was glowing with a healthy colour, his step was elastic, his voice resonant with a noble courage.  Fabia embraced him again and again.  “Remember, whatever befalls,” were her parting words, “I shall still love you.”  And when Drusus went out of the house he saw the dignified figure of the Vestal gazing after him.  A few minutes later he passed no less a personage than the consular Lucius Domitius on his way to some political conference.  He did not know what that dignitary muttered as he swept past in spotless toga, but the gloomy ferocity of his brow needed no interpreter.  Drusus, however, never for a moment gave himself disquietude.  He was fortified for the best and the worst, not by any dumb resignation, not by any cant of philosophy, but by an inward monitor which told him that some power in some way would lead him forth out of all dangers in a manner whereof man could neither ask nor think.

* * * * *

On the sixth of January the debate, as already said, drew toward its end.  All measures of conciliation had been voted down; the crisis was close at hand.  On the seventh, after his interview with Fabia, Drusus went back to his own lodgings, made a few revisions in his will, and in the presence of two or three friends declared Cappadox manumitted,[143] lest he, by some chance, fall into the clutches of a brutal master.  The young man next wrote a long letter to Cornelia for Agias to forward to Baiae, and put in it such hope as he could glean from the dark words of the philosophers; that even if destruction now overtook him, death perhaps did not end all; that perhaps they would meet beyond the grave.  Then he took leave of his weeping freedmen and slaves, and strolled out into the city, and wandered about the Forum and the Sacred Way, to enjoy, perchance, a last view of the sites that were to the Roman so dear.  Then finally he turned toward the Campus Martius, and was strolling down under the long marble-paved colonnade of the Portico of Pompeius.  Lost in a deep reverie, he was forgetful of all present events, until he was roused by a quick twitch at the elbow; he looked around and found Agias before him.

  [143] Manumissio inter amicos was less formal than the regular
  ceremony before the praetor.

“A! domine,” cried the young Greek, “I have friends in the house of Lentulus.  I have just been told by them that the consul has sworn that he will begin to play Sulla this very day.  Neither you, nor Antonius, Cassius, Curio, nor the other supporters of Caesar will be alive to-night.  Do not go into the Curia.  Get away, quickly!  Warn your friends, and leave Rome, or to-night you will all be strangled in the Tullianum!”