Lygia, with a face pale as linen, kissed his hand; little Aulus clung to his toga.

From the corridor, from chambers in the lower story intended for servant-women and attendants, from the bath, from the arches of lower dwellings, from the whole house, crowds of slaves began to hurry out, and the cries of "Heu! heu, me miserum!" were heard.

The women broke into great weeping; some scratched their cheeks, or covered their heads with kerchiefs.
Only the old general himself, accustomed for years to look death straight in the eye, remained calm, and his short eagle face became as rigid as if chiselled from stone.

After a while, when he had silenced the uproar, and commanded the attendants to disappear, he said,--"Let me go, Pomponia.

If my end has come, we shall have time to take leave." And he pushed her aside gently; but she said,--"God grant thy fate and mine to be one, O Aulus!" Then, failing on her knees, she began to pray with that force which fear for some dear one alone can give.
Aulus passed out to the atrium, where the centurion was waiting for him.
It was old Caius Hasta, his former subordinate and companion in British wars.
"I greet thee, general," said he.