“Well, my good Pontius, what part of the palace have you your eye upon?”

“The inner halls and rooms are in the best repair.”

“But they are the last that can be thought of,” cried Titianus.  “The Emperor is satisfied with everything in camp, but where fresh air and a distant prospect are to be had, he must have them.”

“Then let us choose the western suite; hold the plan my worthy friend.”

The steward slid as he was desired, the architect took his pencil and made a vigorous line in the air above the left side of the sketch, saying: 

“This is the west front of the palace which you see from the harbor.  From the south you first come into the lofty peristyle, which may be used as an antechamber; it is surrounded with rooms for the slaves and body-guard.  The next smaller sitting-rooms by the side of the main corridor we may assign to the officers and scribes, in this spacious hypaethral hall—­the one with the Muses—­Hadrian may give audience and the guests may assemble there whom he may admit to eat at his table in this broad peristyle.  The smaller and well-preserved rooms, along this long passage leading to the steward’s house, will do for the pages, secretaries and other attendants on Caesar’s person, and this long saloon, lined with fine porphyry and green marble, and adorned with the beautiful frieze in bronze will, I fancy, please Hadrian as a study and private sitting-room.”

“Admirable!” cried Titianus, “I should like to show your plan to the Empress.”

“In that case, instead of eight days I must have as many weeks,” said Pontius coolly.

“That is true,” answered the prefect laughing.  “But tell me, Keraunus, how comes it that the doors are wanting to all the best rooms?”

“They were of fine thyra wood, and they were wanted in Rome.”

“I must have seen one or another of them there,” muttered the prefect.

“Your cabinet-workers will have a busy time, Pontius.”

“Nay, the hanging-makers may be glad; wherever we can we will close the door-ways with heavy curtains.”

“And what will you do with this damp abode of fogs, which, if I mistake not, must adjoin the dining-hall?”

“We will turn it into a garden filled with ornamental foliage.”

“That is quite admissable—­and the broken statues?”

“We will get rid of the worst.”

The Apollo and the nine Muses stand in the room you intend for an audience-hall—­do they not?”

“Yes.”

“They are in fairly good condition, I think.”

“Urania is wanting entirely,” said the steward, who was still holding the plan out in front of him.

“And what became of her?” asked Titianus, not without excitement.

“Your predecessor, the prefect Haterius Nepos, took a particular fancy to it and carried it with him to Rome.”

“Why Urania of all others?” cried Titianus angrily.  She, above all, ought not to be missing from the hall of audience of Caesar the pontiff of heaven!  What is to be done?”