The chamberlain obeyed and Doris began to suspect who was standing before her, and she said as she smoothed down her dress and bowed low: 

“What great honor befalls us illustrious lady; perhaps you are even the Emperor’s wife?  If that be the case—­”

Sabina made an impatient sign to the chamberlain who interrupted the old woman exclaiming: 

“Be silent and show us the way.”

Doris was not feeling particularly strong that day, and her eyes already red with weeping about her son again filled with tears.  No one had ever spoken so to her before, and yet, for her son’s sake she would not repay sharp words in the same coin, though she had plenty at her command.

She tottered on in front of Sabina, and conducted her to the hall of the Muses.  There Pontius relieved her of the duty, and the respect he paid to the stranger made her sure that in fact she was none other than the Empress in person.

“An odious woman!” said Sabina, as she went on pointing to Doris, whom her words could not escape.  This was too much for the old woman; past all self-control she flung herself on to a seat that was standing by, covered her face with her hands and began crying bitterly.  She felt as if the very ground were snatched from under her feet.

Her son was in disgrace with Caesar, and she and her house were threatened by the most powerful woman in the world.  She pictured herself as already turned into the streets with Euphorion and her dogs, and asked herself what was to become of them all when they had lost their place and the roof that covered them.  Her husband’s memory grew daily weaker, soon his voice even might fail; and how greatly had her own strength failed during the last few years, how small were the savings that were hidden in their chest.  The bright, genial old woman felt quite broken down.  What hurt her was, not merely the pressing need that threatened her, but the disgrace too which would fall upon her, the dislike she had incurred—­ she who had been liked by every one from her youth up—­and the painful feeling of having been treated with scorn and contempt in the presence of others by the powerful lady whose favor she had hoped to win.

At Sabina’s advent all good spirits had fled from Lochias, so at least Doris felt, but she was not one of those who succumb helplessly to a hostile force.  For a few minutes she abandoned herself to her sorrows and sobbed like a child.  Now she dried her eyes, and her eased heart felt the beneficial relief of tears; by degrees she could compose herself and think calmly.

“After all,” said she to herself, “none but Caesar can command here, and it is said that he gets on but badly with his spiteful wife, and cares very little what she wishes.  Hadrian let Pollux feel his power, but he has always been friendly to me.  My dogs and birds amused him, and did he not even do me the honor to relish a dish out of my kitchen?  No, no, if only I can succeed in speaking with him alone all may yet be well,” and thus thinking she rose from her seat.