“You do not seem to rate my capacity very highly, and I regret it, for you have lived with your eyes open and have learned to judge men keenly.”

Doris looked shrewdly at the Emperor with her kindly glance, as if taking his mental measure, and then answered confidently: 

“You—­you are a great man too—­it is quite possible that you might see things that would escape Pontius.  There are a few choice souls whom the Muses particularly love and you are one of them.”

“What leads you to suppose so?”

“I see it in your gaze—­in your brow.”

“You have the gift of divination, then?”

“No, I am not one of that sort; but I am the mother of two sons on whom also the Immortals have bestowed the special gift, which I cannot exactly describe.  It was in them I first saw it, and wherever I have met with it since in other men and artists—­they have been the elect of their circle.  And you too—­I could swear to it, that you are foremost of the men among whom you live.”

“Do not swear lightly,” laughed the Emperor.  “We will meet and talk together again little mother, and when I depart I will ask you again whether you have not been deceived in me.  Come now, Telemachus, the dame’s birds seem to delight you very much.”

These words were addressed to Antinous, who had been going from cage to cage contemplating the feathered pets, all sleeping snugly, with much curiosity and pleasure.

“Is that your son?” asked Doris.

“No, dame, he is only my pupil; but I feel as if he were my son.”

“He is a beautiful lad!”

“Why, the old lady still looks after the young men!”

“We do not give that up till we are a hundred or till the Parcae cut the thread of life.”

“What a confession!”

“Let me finish my speech.—­We never cease to take pleasure in seeing a handsome young fellow, but so long as we are young we ask ourselves what he may have in store for us, and as we grow old we are perfectly satisfied to be able to show him kindness.  Listen young master.  You will always find me here if you want anything in which I can serve you.  I am like a snail and very rarely leave my shell.”

“Till our next meeting,” cried Hadrian, and he and his companions went out into the court.

There the difficulty was to find a footing on the disjointed pavement.  Titianus went on in front of the Emperor and Antinous, and so but few words of friendly pleasure could be exchanged by the monarch and his vicegerent on the occasion of their meeting again.  Hadrian stepped cautiously forward, his face wearing meanwhile a satisfied smile.  The verdict passed by the simple shrewd woman of the people had given him far greater pleasure than the turgid verse in which Mesomedes and his compeers were wont to sing his praises, or the flattering speeches with which he was loaded by the sophists and rhetoricians.