Verus was no schemer; he walked in at the front door with a free and careless step, and scorned to climb the backstairs.  Only for the greatest object and aim of his life was he prepared to sacrifice his inclinations, his comfort and his pride, and to make unhesitating use of every means at hand.  For the sake of that he had already done many things which he regretted, and the man who steals one sheep out of the flock is followed by others without intending it.  The first degrading action that a man commits is sure to be followed by a second and a third.  What Verus was now projecting he regarded as being a simple act of self-defence; and after all, it consisted merely in detaining Hadrian for an hour, interrupting him in an idle occupation—­the observation of the stars.

There were two men who might be helpful to him in this matter—­Antinous and the slave Mastor.  He first thought of Mastor; but the Sarmatian was faithfully devoted to his master and could not be bribed.  And besides!—­No! it really was too far beneath him to make common cause with a slave.  But he could count even less on support from Antinous.  Sabina hated her husband’s favorite, and for her sake Verus had never met the young Bithynian on particularly friendly terms.  He fancied, too, that he had observed that the quiet, dreamy lad kept out of his way.  It was only by intimidation, probably, that the favorite could be induced to do him a service.

At any rate, the first thing to be done was to visit Lochias and there to keep a lookout with his eyes wide open.  If the Emperor were in a happy frame of mind he might, perhaps, be induced to appear during the latter part of the night at the banquet which Verus was giving on the eve of his birthday, and at which all that was beautiful to the eye and ear was to be seen and heard; or a thousand favoring and helpful accidents might occur—­and at any rate the Rabbi’s forecast furnished him good fortune for the next few years.

As he dismounted from his chariot in the newly-paved forecourt and was conducted to the Emperor’s anteroom he looked as bright and free from care as if the future lay before him sunny and cloudless.

Hadrian now occupied the restored palace, not as an architect from Rome but as sovereign of the world; he had shown himself to the Alexandrians and had been received with rejoicings and an unheard-of display in his honor.  The satisfaction caused by the imperial visit was everywhere conspicuous and often found expression in exaggerated terms; indeed the council had passed a resolution to the effect that the month of December, being that in which the city had had the honor of welcoming the ‘Imperator,’ should henceforth be called: 

“Hadrianus.”  The Emperor had to receive one deputation after another and to hold audience after audience, and on the following morning the dramatic representations were to begin, the processions and games which promised to last through many days, or—­as Hadrian himself expressed it—­to rob him of at least a hundred good hours.  Notwithstanding, the monarch found time to settle all the affairs of the state, and at night to question the stars as to the fate which awaited him and his dominions during all the seasons of the new year now so close at hand.