Her adoptive mother had twice found her at the window and had forbidden her, not unkindly but very positively, to look out into the street.  Arsinoe had followed her unresistingly into the interior of the house, but as soon as she knew that Paulina was out or engaged, she slipped back to the window again and looked out for him, who must at every hour of the day be thinking of her.  And she was not happy amid her new and wealthy surroundings.  At first she had found it very pleasant to stretch her limbs on Paulina’s soft cushions, not to stir a finger to help herself, to eat the best of food and to have neither to attend to the children nor to labor in the horrible papyrus-factory; but by the third day she pined for liberty—­and still more for the children, for Selene and Pollux.  Once she went out driving with Paulina in a covered carriage for the first time in her life.  As the horses started she had enjoyed the rapid movement and had leaned out at one side to see the houses and men flying past her; but Paulina had regarded this as not correct—­as she did so many other things that she herself thought right and permissible—­had desired her to draw in her head, and had told her that a well-conducted girl must sit with her eyes in her lap when out driving.

Paulina was kind, never was irritable, had her dressed and waited upon like her own daughter, kissed her in the morning and when she bid her good-night; and yet Arsinoe had never once thought of Paulina’s demand that she should love her.  The proud woman, who was so cool in all the friendly relations of life, and who, as she felt was always watching her, was to her only a stranger who had her in her power.  The fairest sentiments of her soul she must always keep locked up from her.

Once, when Paulina, with tears in her eyes had spoken to her of her lost daughter, Arsinoe had been softened and following the impulse of her heart, had confided to her that she loved Pollux the sculptor and hoped to be his wife.

“You love a maker of images!” Paulina had exclaimed, with as much horror as if she had seen a toad; then she had paced uneasily up and down and had added with her usual calm decision: 

“No, no, my child! you will forget all this as soon as possible; I know of a nobler Bridegroom for you; when once you have learned to know Him you will never long for any other.  Have you seen one single image in this house?”

“No,” replied Arsinoe, “but so far as regards Pollux—­”

“Listen to me” said the widow, “have I not told you of our loving Father in Heaven?  Have I not told you that the gods of the heathen are unreal beings which the vain imaginings of fools have endowed with all the weaknesses and crimes of humanity?  Can you not understand how silly it is to pray to stones?  What power can reside in these frail figures of brass or marble?

“Idols we call them.  He who carves them, serves them and offers sacrifice to them; aye and a great sacrifice, for he devotes his best powers, to their service.  Do you understand me?”