Around the room were silver mirrors, chairs, divans, cabinets, dressers, and elegant tripods.
On one of the divans slept Artemisia, and just outside of the door one of the Gallic maids, whom Cornelia detested so heartily.
When Artemisia's curly head touched her pillow, its owner was fast asleep in an instant.

When her patroness sank back on the cushions worth a king's ransom, Somnus, Hypnus, or whatever name the drowsy god may be called by, was far from present.

Cornelia tossed on the pillows, tossed and cried softly to herself.

The battle was too hard! She had tried: tried to be true to Drusus and her own higher aspirations.

But there was some limit to her strength, and Cornelia felt that limit very near at hand.