“He went out to the gate-house.”

“What is he doing there?”

“I believe he meant—­there, perhaps he—­”

“The truth, fellow!”

“He is with Pollux the sculptor.”

“Has he been there long?”

“I do not exactly know.”

“How long, I ask you?”

“He went after you had shut yourself in with Titianus.”

“Three hours—­three whole hours has he been with that braggart, whom I ordered off the premises!” Hadrian’s eye sparkled wrathfully as he spoke.  His annoyance at the absence of his favorite, whose society he permitted no one to enjoy but himself, and least of all Pollux, smothered every kind feeling in his mind, and in a tone of anger bordering on fury he commanded Mastor to go and fetch Antinous, and then to have the gate-house utterly cleared out.

“Take a dozen slaves to help you,” he cried.  “For aught I care the people may carry all their rubbish into a new house, but I will never set eyes again on that howling old woman, nor her imbecile husband.  As for the sculptor I will make him feel that Caesar has a heavy foot and can unexpectedly crush a snake that creeps across his path.”

Mastor went sadly away and Hadrian returned to his work-room, and there called out to his secretary Phlegon: 

“Write that a new gate-keeper is to be found for this palace.  Euphorion, the old one, is to have his pay continued to him, and half a talent is to be paid to him at the prefect’s office.  Good—­Let the man have at once whatever is necessary; in an hour neither he nor his are to be found in Lochias.  Henceforth no one is to mention them to me again, nor to bring me any petition from them.  Their whole race may join the rest of the dead.”

Phlegon bowed and said: 

“Gabinius, the curiosity-dealer, waits outside.”

“He comes at an appropriate moment,” cried the Emperor.  “After all these vexations it will do me good to hear about beautiful things.”

CHAPTER IX.

Aye, truly!  Sabina’s advent had chased all good spirits from the palace at Lochias.

The Emperor’s commands had come upon the peaceful little house as a whirlwind comes on a heap of leaves.  The inhabitants were not even allowed time fully to realize their misfortune, for instead of bewailing themselves all they could do was to act with circumspection.  The tables, seats, cushions, beds and lutes, the baskets, plants, and bird-cages, the kitchen utensils and the trunks with their clothes were all piled in confusion in the courtyard, and Doris was employing the slaves appointed by Mastor in the task of emptying the house, as briskly and carefully as though it was nothing more than a move from one house to another.  A ray of the sunny brightness of her nature once more sparkled in her eyes since she had been able to say to herself that all that happened to her and hers was one of the things inevitable, and that it was more to the purpose to think of the future than of the past.  The old woman was quite herself again over the work, and as she looked at Euphorion, who sat quite crushed on his couch with his eyes fixed on the ground, she cried out to him: