A Roman who was no Roman! A womanish man whom every true woman must despise! A serpent who had not even the bright scales of a serpent! What would he do to Cornelia?
Drusus's face grew hard.

Had he, Drusus, yet done any injury worth mentioning to his enemy?
Why had he not used the moment when Lucius lay prostrate, and run the sword through his body?
Ill-timed, thoughtless mercy! But the letters, the packet he had wrenched from Ahenobarbus's hand?
Why was it so precious?
Drusus had flung it into the boat.

He took up the packet.

Doubtless some _billet-doux_.

Why should he degrade his mind by giving an instant's thought to any of his enemy's foul intrigues?
He could only open his eyes with difficulty, but a curiosity that did not add to his self-esteem overmastered him.