“I know some one who will find out the way to fitly crown these soft tresses,” replied Julia.  “Arsinoe is the bride of Pollux, the sculptor.”

“Pollux!” exclaimed Plutarch, in extreme excitement.  “Move me forward, Antaeus and Atlas, the sculptor Pollux is her lover?  A great, a splendid artist!  The very same, noble Titianus, of whom I just now speaking to you.”

“You know him?” asked the prefect’s wife.

“No, but I have just left the work-shop of Periander, the gem-cutter, and there I saw the model of a statue of Antinous that is unique, marvellous, incomparable!  The Bithynian as Dionysus!  The work would do no discredit to a Phidias, to a Lysippus.  Pollux was out of the way, but I laid my hand at once on his work; the young master must execute it immediately in marble.  Hadrian will be enchanted with this portrait of his beautiful and devoted favorite.  You must admire it, every connoisseur must!  I will pay for it, the only question is whether I or the city should present it to Caesar.  This matter your husband must decide.”

Arsinoe was radiant with joy at these words, but she stepped modestly into the background as an official came in and handed Titianus a dispatch that had just arrived.

The prefect read it; then turning to his friend and his wife, he said: 

“Hadrian ascribes to Antinous the honors of a god.”

“Fortunate Pollux!” exclaimed Plutarch.  “He has executed the first statue of the new divinity.  I will present it to the city, and they shall place it in the temple to Antinous of which we must lay the first stone before Caesar is back here again.  Farewell, my noble friends!  Greet your bridegroom from me, my child.  His work belongs to me.  Pollux will be the first among his fellow-artists, and it has been my privilege to discover this new star—­the eighth artist whose merit I have detected while he was still unknown.  Your future brother-in-law too, Teuker, will turn out well.  I am having a stone cut by him with a portrait of Antinous.  Once more farewell; I must go to the Council.  We shall have to discuss the subject of a temple to the new divinity.  Move on you two!”

An hour after Plutarch had quitted the prefect’s house Julia’s chariot was standing at the entrance of a lane, much too narrow to admit a vehicle with horses, and which ended in a little plot on which stood Euphorion’s humble house.  Julia’s outrunners easily found out the residence of the sculptor’s parents, led the matron and Arsinoe to the spot, and showed them the door they should knock at.

“What a color you have, my little girl!” said Julia.  “Well, I will not intrude on your meeting, but I should like to deliver you with my own hand into those of your future mother.  Go to that little house, Arctus, and beg dame Doris to step out here.  Only say that some one wishes to speak with her, but do not mention my name.”