But sleep avoided the artist who was too much excited by his rapid night’s work, and as soon as Selene opened the door he sat upright and peeped through an opening between the frames of his place of retirement.  When he saw the tall draped figure in whose hand a lamp was trembling, when he watched her cross the spacious hall, and then suddenly stand still, he was not a little startled, but this did not hinder him from noting every step of the nocturnal spectre with far more curiosity than alarm.  Then, when Selene looked round her, and the lamp illuminated her face, be recognized the steward’s daughter, and immediately knew what she must be seeking.

Her vain attempts to rouse the sleeper, though somewhat pathetic, had in them at the same time something irresistibly ludicrous, and Pollux felt sorely tempted to laugh.  But as soon as Selene began to weep so bitterly he hastily pushed apart two of the laths of the screen, went up and called her name, at first softly not to frighten her, and then more loudly.  When she turned her head he begged her warmly not to be alarmed far he was no ghost, only a very humble and ordinary mortal, in fact-as she might see—­nothing more, alas! than the son of Euphorian, the gate-keeper, good for nothing as yet, but treading the path to something better.

“You, Pollux?” asked the girl with surprise.

“The very man.  But you—­can I help you?”

“My poor father,” sobbed Selene.  “He does not stir, he is immovable—­ and his face—­oh! merciful gods.”

“A man who snores is not dead,” said the sculptor.  “But the doctor told him—­”

“He is not even ill!  Pontius only gave him stronger wine to drink than he is used to.  Let him be; he is sleeping with the pillow under his neck, as comfortably as a child.  When he began just now to trumpet a little too loud I whistled as loud as a plover, for that often silences a snorer; but I could more easily have made those stone Muses dance than have roused him.”

“If only we could get him to bed.”

“Well, if you have four horses at hand.”

“You are as bad as you ever were!”

“A little less so, Selene, only you must become accustomed again to my way of speaking.  This time I only mean that we two together are not strong enough to carry him away.”

“But what can I do, then?  The doctor said—­”

“Never mind the doctor.  The complaint your father is suffering from is one I know well.  It will be gone to-morrow, perhaps by sundown, and the only pain it will leave behind, he will feel under his wig.  Only leave him to sleep.”

“But it is so cold here.”

“Take my cloak and cover him with that.”

“Then you will be frozen.”

“I am used to it.  How long has Keraunus had dealings with the doctor?”

Selene related the accident that had befallen her father and how justified were her fears.  The sculptor listened to her in silence and then said in a quite altered tone: