“Nay, stop where you are,” answered Hadrian.  “We, as fellow-artists, may waive ceremony.—­What are you doing in there?”

“I will push the screen back in a moment and show you our Urania.  It is very good for an artist to hear the opinion of a man who thoroughly understands the thing.”

“Presently, friend-presently; first let me enjoy a scrap of bread, for the severity of my hunger might very possibly influence my judgment.”

As he was speaking the architect offered the Emperor a salver with bread, salt, and a cup of wine, which his own slave had carried to him.  When Pollux observed this modest meal, he called out: 

“That is prisoners’ fare, Pontius; have we nothing better in the house than that?”

“Possibly you yourself assisted in demolishing the dainty dishes I had sent down for the architect,” cried Titianus, pretending to threaten him.

“You are defacing a fair memory,” sighed the sculptor, with mock melancholy.  “But, by Hercules, I did my fair share of the work of destruction.  If only now—­but stay!  I have an idea worthy of Aristotle himself! that breakfast, to which I invited you to-morrow morning, most noble Pontius, is all ready at my mother’s, and can be warmed up in a few minutes.  Do not be alarmed, worthy sir, but the dish in question is cabbage with sausages—­a mess which, like the soul of an Egyptian, possesses at the instant of resurrection, nobler qualities than when it first sees the light.”

“Excellent,” cried Hadrian.  “Cabbage and sausages!” He wiped his full lips with his hand, smiling with gratification, and he broke into a hearty laugh of amusement as he heard a loud “Ah!” of satisfaction from Antinous, who drew nearer to the canvas screen.  “There is another whose mouth waters and whose imagination revels in a happy future,” said the Emperor to the prefect, pointing to his favorite.

But he had misinterpreted the lad’s exclamation, for it was the mere name of the dish—­which his mother had often set on the table of his humble home in Bithynia—­which reminded him of his native country and his childhood, and transplanted him in thought back into their midst.  It was a swift leap at his heart, and not merely the pleasant watering of his gums, that had forced the “Ah” to his lips.  Still, he was glad to see his native dish again, and would not have exchanged it against the richest banquet.  Pollux had meanwhile come out of his nook, and said: 

“In a quarter of an hour I shall set before you the breakfast which has been turned into a supper.  Mitigate your worst hunger with some bread and salt, and then my mother’s cabbage-stew will not only satisfy you, but will be enjoyed with calm appreciation.”

“Greet dame Doris from me,” Hadrian called after the sculptor; and when Pollux had quitted the hall he turned to Titianus and Pontius and said: 

“What a splendid young fellow.  I am curious to see what he can do as an artist.”