“After bad times, come good ones! only let us keep from making ourselves miserable.  We have done nothing wrong, and so long as we do not think ourselves wretched, we are not so.  Only, hold up your head!

“Up, old man, up!  Go at once to Diotima and tell her that we beg her to give us hospitality for a few days, and house-room for our chattels.”

“And if Caesar does not keep his word?” asked Euphorion gloomily.  “What sort of a life shall we live then?”

“A bad one-a dog’s life; and for that very reason it is wiser to enjoy now what we still possess.  A cup of wine, Pollux, for me and your father.  But there must be no water in it to-day.”

“I cannot drink,” sighed Euphorion.

“Then I will drink your share and my own too.”  Nay-nay, mother,” remonstrated Pollux.

“Well put some water in, lad, just a little water, only do not make such a pitiful face.  Is that the way a young fellow should look who has his art, and plenty of strength in his hands, and the sweetest of sweethearts in his heart?”

“It is certainly not for myself, mother,” retorted the sculptor, “that I am anxious.  But how am I ever to get into the palace again to see Arsinoe, and how am I to deal with that ferocious old Keraunus?”

“Leave that question for time to answer,” replied Doris.

“Time may give a good answer, but it may also give a bad one.”

“And the best she only gives to those who wait for her in the antechamber of Patience.”

“A bad place for me, and for those like me,” sighed Pollux.

“You have only to sit still and go on knocking at the doors,” replied Doris, “and before you can look round you Time will call out, ‘come in.’  Now show the men how they are to treat the statue of Apollo, and be my own happy, bright boy once more.”

Pollux did as she desired, thinking as he went:  “She speaks wisely—­she is not leaving Arsinoe behind.  If only I had been able to arrange with Antinous at least, where I should find him again; but at Caesar’s orders the young fellow was like one stunned, and he tottered as he went, as if he were going to execution.”

Dame Doris had not been betrayed by her happy confidence, for Phlegon the secretary came to inform her of the Emperor’s purpose to give her husband half a talent, and to continue to pay him in the future his little salary.

“You see,” cried the old woman, “the sun of better days is already rising.  Half a talent!  Why poverty has nothing to do with such rich folks as we are!  What do you think—­would it not be right to pour out half a cup of wine to the gods, and allow ourselves the other half?”

Doris was as gay as if she were going to a wedding, and her cheerfulness communicated itself to her son, who saw himself relieved of part of the anxiety that weighed upon him with regard to his parents and sister.  His drooping courage, and spirit for life, only needed a few drops of kindly dew to revive it, and he once more began to think of his art.  Before anything else he would try to complete his successfully-sketched bust of Antinous.