“But he is alive, the splendid boy, the image of the gods! and he is out of danger?” cried Balbilla, with much anxiety.

“He is quite well; only his hands, as I said, are somewhat burnt, and his hair is singed, but that will grow again.”

“His soft, lovely curls!” cried Balbilla.  “Let us go home, Claudia.  The gardener shall cut a magnificent bunch of roses, and we will send it to Antinous to please him.”

“Flowers to a man who does not care about them?” asked Pontius, gravely.

“With what else can women reward men’s virtues or do honor to their beauty?” asked Balbilla.

“Our own conscience is the reward of our honest actions, or the laurel wreath from the hand of some famous man.”

“And beauty?”

“That of women claims and wins admiration, love too perhaps and flowers-that of men may rejoice the eye, but to do it Honor is a task granted to no mortal woman.”

“To whom, then, if I may ask the question?”

“To Art, which makes it immortal.”

“But the roses may bring some comfort and pleasure to the suffering youth.”

“Then send them-but to the sick boy, and not to the handsome man,” retorted Pontius.

Balbilla was silent, and she and her companion followed the architect to the harbor.  There he parted from them, putting them into a boat which took them back to the Caesareum through one of the arch-gates under the Heptastadium.

As they were rowed along the younger Roman lady said to the elder: 

“Pontius has quite spoilt my fun about the roses.  The sick boy is the handsome Antinous all the same, and if anybody could think—­well, I shall do just as I please; still it will be best not to cut the nosegay.”

CHAPTER XV.

The town was out of danger; the fire was extinct.  Pontius had taken no rest till noonday.  Three horses had he tired out and replaced by fresh ones, but his sinewy frame and healthy courage had till now defied every strain.  As soon as he could consider his task at an end he went off to his own house, and he needed rest; but in the hall of his residence he already found a number of persons waiting, and who were likely to stand between him and the enjoyment of it.

A man who lives in the midst of important undertakings cannot, with impunity, leave his work to take care of itself for several days.  All the claims upon him become pent up, and when he returns home they deluge him like water when the sluice-gates are suddenly opened behind which it has been dammed up.

At least twenty persons, who had heard of the architect’s return, were waiting for him in his outer hall, and crowded upon him as soon as he appeared.  Among them he saw several who had come on important business, but he felt that he had reached the farthest limit of his strength, and he was determined to secure a little rest at any cost.  The grave man’s natural consideration, usually so conspicuous, could not hold out against the demands made on his endurance, and he angrily and peevishly pointed to his begrimed face as he made his way through the people waiting for him.