At the rotunda his pupil had done his business better than his master could have expected, but Pollux was by no means satisfied with his own arrangements.  His work, like several others standing on the same side of the platform, turned its back on the steward’s balcony, and the only reason why he had parted with the portrait of Selene’s mother, of which he was so fond, was that his playfellow might gaze at the face whenever she chose.  He found, however, to his satisfaction, that the busts were held in their places on their tall pedestals only by their own weight, and he then resolved to alter the historical order of the portrait-heads by changing their places, and to let the famous Cleopatra turn her back upon the palace, so that his favorite bust might look towards it.

In order to carry out this purpose then and there, he called some slaves up to help him in the alteration.  This gave rise, more than once, to a warning cry, and the loud talking and ordering on this spot, for so many years left solitary and silent, attracted an inquirer, who, soon after the apprentice had begun his work, had shown herself on the balcony, but who had soon retreated after casting a glance at the dirty lad, splashed from head to foot with plaster.  This time, however, she remained to watch, following every movement of Pollux as he directed the slaves; though, all the time and whatever he was doing, he turned his back upon her.

At last the portrait-head had found its right position, shrouded still in a cloth to preserve it from the marks of workmen’s hands.  With a deep breath the artist turned full on the steward’s house, and immediately a clear merry voice called out: 

“What, tall Pollux!  It really is tall Pollux; how glad I am!”

With these words the girl on the balcony loudly clapped her hands; and as the sculptor hailed her in return, and shouted: 

“And you are little Arsinoe, eternal gods!  What the little thing has come to!” She stood on tip-toe to seem taller, nodded at him pleasantly, and laughed out:  “I have not done growing yet; but as for you, you look quite dignified with the beard on your chin, and your eagle’s nose.  Selene did not tell me till to-day that you were living down there with the others.”

The artist’s eyes were fixed on the girl, as if spellbound.  There are poetic natures in which the imagination immediately transmutes every new thing that strikes the eyes or the intelligence, into a romance, or rapidly embodies it in verse; and Pollux, like many of his calling, could never set his eyes on a fine human form and face, without instantly associating them with his art.