“And leave the old woman to commit some other stupid blunder?” cried Keraunus.  “It is my duty to stay with the poor little boy.  You can go to your sister and take the old woman with you.”

“Very good, and to-morrow early I will come back.”

“To-morrow morning?” said Keraunus surprised.  “No, no, that will not do.  Doris said just now that Selene will be well nursed by the Christians.  Only see how she is, give her my love, and then come back.”

“But father—­”

“Besides you must remember that the prefect’s wife expects you to-morrow at noon to choose the stuff for your dress, and you must not look as if you had been sitting up all night.”

“I will rest a little while in the morning.”

“In the morning?  And how about curling my hair?  And your new frock?  And poor little Helios?—­No child, you are only just to see Selene and then come back again.  Early in the morning too the holiday will have begun, and you know what goes on then; the old woman would be of no use to you in the throng.  Go and see how Selene is, you are not to stay.”

“I will see—­”

“Not a word about seeing—­you come home again.  I desire it; in two hours you are to be in bed.”

Arsinoe shrugged her shoulders, and two minutes after she was standing with the old slave-woman in front of the gate-house.

A broad beam of light still fell through the half-open door of the bowery little room, so Euphorion and Doris had not retired to rest and could at once open the palace-gate for her.  The Graces set up a bark as Arsinoe crossed the threshold of her old friends’ house, but they did not leave their cushion for they soon recognized her.

It was several years since Arsinoe, in obedience to her father’s strict prohibition had set foot in the snug the house, and her heart was deeply touched as she saw again all the surroundings she had loved as a child, and had not forgotten as she grew into girlhood.  There were the birds, the little dogs, and the lutes on the wall near the Apollo.  On worthy dame Doris’ table there had always been something to eat, and there, now, good a lovely, golden-brown cake, by the side of the wine-jar.  How often as a child had she sneaked in to beg a sweet morsel, how often to see whether tall Pollux were not there, Pollux, whose bold devices and original suggestions, gave his work and his play alike, the stamp of genius, and lent them a peculiar charm.  And there sat her saucy playfellow in person, his legs stretched at full length in front of him, and talking, eagerly.  Arsinoe heard him relating the end of the history of her being chosen for Roxana, and caught her own name, graced with such epithets as brought the blushes to her cheeks, and gave her double pleasure because he could not guess that she could overhear them.  From a boy he had grown to a man, and a fine man, and a great artist—­but he was still the old kind and audacious Pollux.