“Then, Argus actually bit her?” cried Antinous, horrified.

“No,” Keraunus replied.  “But as she fell her head and foot have been injured, and she is suffering much pain.”

“That is very sad,” said Hadrian, “and as I am not ignorant of the healing art, I will gladly try to help the poor girl.”

“I pay a professional leech, who attends me and mine,” replied the steward, in a repellant tone, “and I came hither to request—­or, to be frank with you—­to require—­”

“What?”

“First, that my pardon shall be asked.”

“That, the artist, Claudius Venator, is always ready to do when any one has suffered damage by his fault.  What has happened—­I repeat it—­ grieves me sincerely, and I beg you tell the maiden to whom the accident happened, that her pain is mine.  What more do you desire?”

The steward’s features had calmed down at these last words, and he answered with less excitement than before: 

“I must request you to chain up your dog, or to shut it up, or in some way to keep it from mischief.”

“That is pretty strong!” cried the Emperor.

“It is only a reasonable demand, and I must stand by it,” replied Keraunus decidedly.  “Neither I—­nor my children’s lives are safe, so long as this wild beast is prowling about at pleasure.”

Hadrian had, ere now, erected monuments to deceased favorites, both dogs and horses, and his faithful Argus was no less dear to him, than other four-footed companions have been to other childless men; hence the queer fat man’s demand seemed to him so audacious and monstrous, that he indignantly exclaimed: 

“Folly!—­the dog shall be watched, but nothing farther.”

“You will chain him up,” replied Keraunus, with an angry, glare, “or someone will be found who will make him harmless forever.”

“That will be an evil attempt for the cowardly murderer!” cried Hadrian.  “Eh!  Argus, what do you think?”

At these words the dog drew himself up, and would have sprung at the steward’s throat if his master and Antinous had not held him back.

Keraunus felt that the dog had threatened him, but at this instant he would have let himself be torn by him without wincing, so completely was he overmastered by the fury born of his injured pride.

“And am I—­I too, to be hunted down by a dog, in this house?” he cried defiantly, setting his left fist on his hip.  “Every thing has its limits, and so has my patience with a guest who, in spite of his ripe age forgets due consideration.  I will inform the prefect Titianus of your proceedings here, and when the Emperor arrives he shall know—­”

“What?” laughed Hadrian.

“The way you behave to me.”

“Till then the dog shall stay where it is, and really under due restraint.  But I can tell you man, that Hadrian is as much a friend of dogs as I am—­and fonder of me than even of dogs.”