He did not know what to begin, how to proceed, whither to betake himself.

Acte repeated as an echo the words, "Too late," which from another's mouth sounded like a death sentence.

He understood one thing, however, that he must find Lygia, or something evil would happen to him.
And wrapping himself mechanically in his toga, he was about to depart without taking farewell even of Acte, when suddenly the curtain separating the entrance from the atrium was pushed aside, and he saw before him the pensive figure of Pomponia Graecina.
Evidently she too had heard of the disappearance of Lygia, and, judging that she could see Acte more easily than Aulus, had come for news to her.
But, seeing Vinicius, she turned her pale, delicate face to him, and said, after a pause,--"May God forgive thee the wrong, Marcus, which thou hast done to us and to Lygia." He stood with drooping head, with a feeling of misfortune and guilt, not understanding what God was to forgive him or could forgive him.

Pomponia had no cause to mention forgiveness; she ought to have spoken of revenge.
At last he went out with a head devoid of counsel, full of grievous thoughts, immense care, and amazement.
In the court and under the gallery were crowds of anxious people.

Among slaves of the palace were knights and senators who had come to inquire about the health of the infant, and at the same time to show themselves in the palace, and exhibit a proof of their anxiety, even in presence of Nero's slaves.