He had learnt by experience that sorrow must cast its shadow over the existence of every human being; but still, the man to whom it should be vouchsafed to walk through life hand-in-hand with this radiant child of fortune could, as it seemed to him, have nothing to look forward to but pure sunshine.  During his journey to Pelusium and his stay there he had often thought of her, and each time that her image had appeared to his inward eye he had felt as though daylight had shone in his soul.  To have met her he regarded as the greatest joy of his life, but he dared not aspire to claim her as his own.

He did not undervalue himself and knew that he might well be proud of the position he had won by his own industry and talents; and still she was the grandchild of the man who had had the right to sell his grandfather for mere coin, and was so high-born, rich and distinguished that he would have thought it hardly more audacious to ask the Emperor what he would take for the purple than to woo her.  But to shelter her, to warn her, to allow his soul to be refreshed by the sight of her and by her talk—­this he felt was permissible, this happiness no one could deprive him of.  And this she would grant him—­she esteemed him and would give him the right to protect her, this he felt, with thankfulness and joy.  He would, then and there, have gone through the exertions of the last few hours all over again if he could have been certain that he should once more be refreshed with the draught of water from her hand.  Only to think of her and of her sweetness seemed greater happiness than the possession of any other woman.

As he got out of his litter at the door of his sister’s town-house he shook his head, smiling at himself; for he confessed to himself that the whole of the long distance he had hardly thought of anything but Balbilla.

Paulina’s house had but few windows opening upon the street and these belonged to the strangers’ rooms, and yet his arrival had been observed.  A window at the side of the house, all grown round with creepers, framed in a sweet girlish head which looked down from it inquisitively on the bustle in the street.  Pontius did not notice it, but Arsinoe—­for it was her pretty face that looked out—­at once recognized the architect whom she had seen at Lochias and of whom Pollux had spoken as his friend and patron.

She had now, for a week, been living with the rich widow; she wanted for nothing, and yet her soul longed with all its might to be out in the city, and to inquire for Pollux and his parents, of whom she had heard nothing since the day of her father’s death.  Her lover was no doubt seeking her with anxiety and sorrow; but how was he to find her?