But such were always the manners of Caesar towards women.

He had wreathed a sprig of myrtle in her hair as she was singing.

She took it from her dark ringlets, and kissed it, and wept over it, and thought of the sweet legends of her own dear Greece,--of youths and girls, who, pining away in hopeless love, had been transformed into flowers by the compassion of the Gods; and she wished to become a flower, which Caesar might sometimes touch, though he should touch it only to weave a crown for some prouder and happier mistress.
She was roused from her musings by the loud step and voice of Cethegus, who was pacing furiously up and down the supper-room.
"May all the Gods confound me, if Caesar be not the deepest traitor, or the most miserable idiot, that ever intermeddled with a plot!" Zoe shuddered.

She drew nearer to the window.

She stood concealed from observation by the curtain of fine network which hung over the aperture, to exclude the annoying insects of the climate.
"And you too!" continued Cethegus, turning fiercely on his accomplice; "you to take his part against me!--you, who proposed the scheme yourself!" "My dear Caius Cethegus, you will not understand me.