Where was he to find the money he was accustomed to give his sister on the first day of every month?  Papias was on friendly terms with all the sculptors of the city, and it was only to be expected that he would warn them against him, and do his best to make it difficult to him to find a new place as assistant.  His old master had also been witness of Hadrian’s anger against him, and was quite the man to take every advantage of what he had overheard.  It is never a recommendation for any one that he is an object of dislike to the powerful, and least of all does it help him with those who look for the favor and gifts of the great men of the world.  When Hadrian should think proper to throw off his disguise, it might easily occur to him to let Pollux feel the effects of his power.  Would it not be wise in him to quit Alexandria and seek work or daily bread in some other Greek city?

But for Arsinoe’s sake he could not turn his back on his native place.  He loved her with all the passion of his artist’s soul, and his youthful courage would certainly not have been so quickly and utterly crushed if he could have deluded himself as to the fact that his hopes of possessing her had been driven into the remote background by the events of the preceding evening.  How could he dare to drag her into his uncertain and compromised position?  And what reception could he hope for from her father if he should now attempt to demand her for his wife.  As these thoughts overpowered his mind he suddenly felt as if his eyes were smarting with sand that had blown into them, and he could not help springing out of bed; be paced his little room with long steps, and he held his forehead pressed against the wall.

The dawn of a new day appeared as a welcome comfort, and by the time he had eaten the morning porridge which his mother set before him—­and her eyes were red with weeping—­the idea struck him that he would go to Pontius, the architect.  That was the lifeboat he espied.

Doris shared her son’s breakfast but, contrary to her usual custom, she spoke very little, only she frequently passed her hand over her son’s curly hair.  Euphorion strode up and down the room, rummaging his brain for ideas for an ode in which he might address the Emperor and implore forgiveness for his son.  Soon after breakfast Pollux went up to the rotunda where the Queens’ busts stood, hoping to see Arsinoe again, and a loud snatch of song soon brought her out on to the balcony.  They exchanged greetings, and Pollux signed to her to come down to him.  She would have obeyed him more than gladly, but her father had also heard the sculptor’s voice and drove her back into the room.  Still the mere sight of his beloved fair one had done the artist good.  Hardly had he got back to his father’s little house when Antinous came sauntering in—­he represented in the artist’s mind the hospitable shores on which he might gaze.  Hope revived his soul, and Hope is the sun before which despair flies as the shades of night flee at the rising of the day-star.