“The fate of men is different to the destiny of women.”

“Would you like to hear what was prophesied of me?”

“What a question!”

“Listen then; the saying I will repeat to you came to me from no less an oracle than the Delphic Pythia: 

    “’That which thou boldest most precious and dear
     Shall be torn from thy keeping,
     And from the heights of Olympus,
     Down shalt thou fall in the dust.’”

“Is that all?”

“Nay—­two consolatory lines follow.”

“And they are—?”

     “Still the contemplative eye
     Discerns under mutable sand drifts
     Stable foundations of stone,
     Marble and natural rock.”

“And you are inclined to complain of this oracle?”

“Is it so pleasant to have to wade through dust?  We have enough of that intolerable nuisance here in Egypt—­or am I to be delighted at the prospect of hurting my feet on hard stones?”

“And what do the interpreters say?”

“Only silly nonsense.”

“You have never found the right one; but I—­I see the meaning of the oracle.”

“You?”

“Ay, I!  The stern Balbilla will at last descend from the lofty Olympus of her high-anti-mightiness and no longer disdain that immutable foundation-rock, the adoration of her faithful Verus.”

“That foundation—­that rock!” laughed the girl.  “I should think it as well advised to try to walk on the surface of the sea out there as on that rock!”

“Only try.”

“It is not necessary; Lucilla has made the experiment for me.  Your interpretation is wrong; Caesar gave me a far better one.”

“What was that?”

“That I should give up writing poetry and devote myself to strict scientific studies.  He advised me to try astronomy.”

“Astronomy,” repeated Verus, growing graver.  Farewell, fair one; I must go to Caesar!”

“We were with him yesterday at Lochias.  How everything is changed there!  The pretty little gate house is gone, there is nothing more to be seen of all the cheerful bustle of builders and artists, and what were gay workshops are turned into dull, commonplace halls.  The screens in the hall of the Muses had to go a week ago, and with them the young scatter-brain who set himself against my curls with so much energy that I was on the point of sacrificing them—­”

“Without them you would no longer be Balbilla,” cried Verus eagerly.  “The artist condemns all that is not permanently beautiful, but we are glad to see any thing that is graceful, and can find pleasure in it with the other children of the time.  The sculptor may dress his goddesses after the fashion of graver days and the laws of his art, but mortal women—­if he is wise—­after the fashion of the day.  However, I am heartily sorry for that clever, genial young fellow.  He has offended Caesar and was turned out of the palace, and now he is nowhere to be found.”