During this conversation the old man had at first listened silently to the magistrate’s words, gazing intently into his face.  So it was true.  The demand to yield up his garden, and even the little house, for fifty years the scene of his study and creative work, for the sake of a statue, would be made.  Since this had become a certainty, he had stood with his eyes fixed upon the ground.  Grief had paralyzed his tongue, and Helena, who felt this, for the aged head seemed as if it were bending under a heavy burden, had drawn close to his side.

The shouts and howls of the throng outside echoed through the open roof of the impluvium, but the old man did not seem to hear them, and did not even notice his granddaughter.  Yet, no sooner did he feel her touch than he hurriedly shrank away, flung back his drooping head, and gazed around the circle of intruders.

The dull, questioning eyes of the old commentator and writer of many books now blazed with the hot fire of youthful passion and, like a wrestler who seeks the right grip, he measured Apollonius and his companions with wrathful glances.  The fragile recluse seemed transformed into a warrior ready for battle.  His lips and the nostrils of his delicate nose quivered, and when Apollonius began to say that it would be wise to remove the contents of the summer-house that day, as it would be torn down early the next morning, Didymus raised his arms, exclaiming: 

“That will not be done.  Not a single roll shall be removed!  They will find me at work as usual early to-morrow morning, and if it is still your wish to rob me of my property you must use violence to attain your purpose.”

“Calm yourself,” replied Apollonius.  “Every one beneath the moon must submit to a higher power; the gods bow to destiny, we mortals to the sovereign.  You are a sage; I, merely mindful of the behests of duty, administer my office.  But I know life, and if I may offer my counsel, you will accept what cannot be averted, and I will wager ten to one that you will have the best of it; that the Queen will place in your hands means—­”

“Sufficient to build a palace on the site of the little house of which I was robbed,” Didymus interrupted bitterly.  Then rage burst forth afresh “What do I care for your money?  I want my rights, my good, guaranteed rights.  I insist upon them, and whoever assails the ground which my grandfather and father bequeathed to me—­”

He hesitated, for the throng outside had burst into a loud shout of joy; and when it died away, and the old man began once more defiantly to claim his rights, he was interrupted by a woman’s clear tones, addressing him with the Greek greeting, “Rejoice!”—­a voice so gay and musical that it seemed to dispel the depression which rested like a grey fog on the whole company.

While Didymus was listening to the excited populace, and the new-comer was gazing at the old man whose rigid obstinacy could scarcely be conquered by kindness, the younger men were looking at the beautiful woman who joined them.  Her haste had flushed her cheeks, and from beneath the turquoise-blue kerchief that covered her fair locks a bewitching face smiled at her sister, the architect, and her grandfather.