palace-gates. The broken-up pavement and the swarms of men engaged in repairing it, obliged Titianus and his companions to quit the chariot here and to pass close to the little gate-house. Hadrian, whose observation nothing ever escaped which came in his way and seemed worth noticing, stood still before Euphorion’s door and looked into the comfortable little room, with its decoration of flowers and birds and the statue of Apollo; while dame Doris in her newest garments, stood on the threshold to watch for the prefect. And Titianus greeted her warmly, for he was wont whenever he came to Lochias to exchange a few merry or wise words with her. The little dogs had already crept into their basket, but as soon as they caught sight of a strange dog they rushed past their mistress into the open air, and dame Doris found herself obliged, while she returned the kindly greeting of her patron, to shout at Euphrosyne, Thalia and Aglaia more than once by their pretty names.
“Splendid, splendid!” cried Hadrian, pointing into the little house. “An idyl, a perfect idyl. Who would have expected to find such a smiling nook of peace in the most restless and busy town in the empire.”
“I and Pontius were equally surprised at this little nest, and we therefore left it untouched,” said the prefect.
“Intelligent people understand each other, and I owe you thanks for preserving this little home,” answered the Emperor. “What an omen, what a favorable, in every way favorable augury, it offers me. The Graces receive me here into these old walls, Aglaia, Thalia and Euphrosyne!”
“Good luck to you, Master,” old Doris called out to the prefect.
“We come late,” said Hadrian.
“That does not matter,” said the old woman. “Here at Lochias for the last week we have quite forgotten to distinguish day from night, and a blessing can never come too late.”
“I have brought with me to-day an illustrious guest,” said Titianus. “The great Roman architect Claudius Venator. He only disembarked a few minutes since.”
“Then a draught of wine will do him good. We have in the house some good white Mareotic from my daughter’s garden by the lake. If your friend will do us humble folks so much honor, I beg he will step into our room; it is clean, is it not sir? and the cup I will give him to drink it out of would not disgrace the Emperor himself. Who knows what you will find up in the midst of all the muddle yonder?”
“I will accept your invitation with pleasure,” answered Hadrian. “I can see by your face that you have a pleasure in entertaining us, and any one might envy you your little house.”
“When the climbing-rose and the honey-suckle are out it is much prettier,” said Doris, as she filled the cup. “Here is some water for mixing.”
The Emperor took the cup carved by Pollux, looked at it with admiration, and before putting it to his lips said:
“A masterpiece, dame; what would Caesar find to drink out of here where the gate-keeper uses such a treasure? Who executed this admirable work, pray?”
“My son carved it for me in his spare time.”
“He is a highly-skilled sculptor,” Titianus explained.
When the Emperor had half emptied the cup with much satisfaction he set it on the table, and said:
“A very noble drink! I thank you, mother.”
“And I you, for styling me mother: there is no better title a woman can have who has brought up good children; and I have three who need never be ashamed to be seen.”
“I wish you all luck with them, good little mother,” replied the Emperor.
“We shall meet again, for I am going to spend some days at Lochias.”
“Now, in all this bustle?” asked Doris.
“This great architect,” said Titianus, in explanation, “is to advise and help our Pontius.”
“He needs no help!” cried the old woman. “He is a man of the best stamp. His foresight and energy, my son says, are incomparable. I have seen him giving his orders myself, and I know a man when I see him!”
“And what particularly pleased you in him?” asked Hadrian, who was much amused with the shrewd old woman’s freedom.
“He never for a moment loses his temper in all the hurry, never speaks a word too much or too little; he can be stern when it is necessary, but he is kind to his inferiors. What his merits are as an artist I am not capable of judging, but I am quite certain that he is a just and able man.”
“I know him myself,” replied Caesar, “and you describe him rightly; but he seemed to me sterner than he has shown himself to you.”
“Being a man he must be able to be severe; but he is so only when it is necessary, and how kind he can be he shows himself every day. A man grows to the mould of his own mind when he is a great deal alone; and this I have noticed, that a man who is repellant and sharp to those beneath him is not in himself anything really great; for it shows that he considers it necessary to guard against the danger of being looked upon as of no more consequence than the poorer folks he deals with. Now, a man of real worth knows that it can be seen in his bearing, even when he treats one of us as an equal. Pontius does so, and Titianus, and you who are his friend, no less. It is a good thing that you should have come—but, as I said before, the architect up there can do very well without you.”
“You do not seem to rate my capacity very highly, and I regret it, for you have lived with your eyes open and have learned to judge men keenly.”
Doris looked shrewdly at the Emperor with her kindly glance, as if taking his mental measure, and then answered confidently:
“You—you are a great man too—it is quite possible that you might see things that would escape Pontius. There are a few choice souls whom the Muses particularly love and you are one of them.”
“What leads you to suppose so?”
“I see it in your gaze—in your brow.”
“You have the gift of divination, then?”
“No, I am not one of that sort; but I am the mother of two sons on whom also the Immortals have bestowed the special gift, which I cannot exactly describe. It was in them I first saw it, and wherever I have met with it since in other men and artists—they have been the elect of their circle. And you too—I could swear to it, that you are foremost of the men among whom you live.”
“Do not swear lightly,” laughed the Emperor. “We will meet and talk together again little mother, and when I depart I will ask you again whether you have not been deceived in me. Come now, Telemachus, the dame’s birds seem to delight you very much.”
These words were addressed to Antinous, who had been going from cage to cage contemplating the feathered pets, all sleeping snugly, with much curiosity and pleasure.
“Is that your son?” asked Doris.
“No, dame, he is only my pupil; but I feel as if he were my son.”
“He is a beautiful lad!”
“Why, the old lady still looks after the young men!”
“We
