The old woman had taken him for no more than an artist; she could not know who he was, and yet she had recognized—­or had Titianus been indiscreet?  Did she know or suspect whom she was talking to?  Hadrian’s deeply suspicious nature was more and more roused; he began to fancy that the gate-keeper’s wife had learnt her speech by heart, and that her welcome had been preconcerted; he suddenly paused and desired the prefect to wait for him, and Antinous to remain behind with the clog.  He turned round, retraced his steps to the gatehouse and slipped close up to it in a very unprincely way.  He stood still by the door of the little house which was still open, and listened to the conversation between Doris and her husband.

“A fine tall man,” said Euphorion, “he is a little like the Emperor.”

“Not a bit,” replied Doris.  “Only think of the full-length statue of Hadrian in the garden of the Paneum; it has a dissatisfied satirical expression, and the architect has a grave brow, it is true, but pure friendly kindness lights up his features.  It is only the beard that reminds you of the one when you look at the other.  Hadrian might be very glad if he were like the prefect’s guest.”

“Yes, he is handsomer—­how shall I say it—­more like the gods than that cold marble figure,” Euphorion declared.  “A grand noble, he is no doubt, but still an artist too; I wonder whether he could be induced by Pontius or Papias or Aristeas or one of the great painters to take the part of Calchas the soothsayer in our group at the festival?  He would perform it in quite another way than that dry stick Philemon the ivory carver.  Hand me my lute; I have already forgotten again the beginning of the last verse.  Oh! my wretched memory!  Thank you.”

Euphorion loudly struck the strings and sang in a voice that was still tolerably sweet and very well trained: 

“’Sabina hail!  Oh Sabina!—­Hail; victorious hail to the conquering goddess Sabina!’ If only Pollux were here he would remind me of the right words.  ’Hail; victorious hail, to the thousand-fold Sabina!’—­That is nonsense.  ‘Hail, hail! divine hail to thee O all-conquering Sabina.’  No it was not that either.  If a crocodile would only swallow this Sabina I would give him that hot cake in yonder dish with pleasure, for his pudding.  But stay—­I have it.  ’Hail, a thousand-fold hail to the conquering goddess Sabina!’”

Hadrian had heard all he wanted; while Euphorion went on repeating his line a score or more of times to impress it on his recalcitrant memory.  Caesar turned his back on the gate-house, and while he and his companions picked their way not without difficulty through the workmen who squatted here and there and everywhere on the ground, he clapped Titianus more than once on his shoulder, and after he had been received and welcomed by Pontius, he exclaimed: 

“I bless my decision to come here now!  I have had a good evening, a quite delightful evening.”