Arsinoe’s heart beat so violently that she was incapable of saying a word of thanks to her kind protectress.  “Step behind this palm-tree,” said the lady.  Arsinoe obeyed; but she felt as though it was some outside volition, and not her own, that guided her to her hiding-place.  She heard nothing of the first words spoken by the Roman lady and Doris.  She only saw the dear old face of her Pollux’s mother, and in spite of her reddened eyes and the wrinkles which trouble had furrowed in her face, she could not tire of looking at it.  It reminded her of the happiest days of her childhood, and she longed to rush forward and throw her arms round the neck of the kindly, good-hearted woman.  Then she heard Julia say:  “I have brought her to you.  She is just as sweet and as maidenly and lovely as she was the first time we saw her in the theatre.”

“Where is she?  Where is she?” asked Doris in a trembling voice.

Julia pointed to the palm, and was about to call Arsinoe, but the girl could no longer restrain her longing to fall on the neck of some one dear to her, for Pollux had come out of the door to see who had asked for his mother, and to see him and to fly to his breast with a cry of joy had been one and the same act to Arsinoe.

Julia gazed at the couple with moistened eyes, and when, after many kind words for old and young alike, she took leave of the happy group, she said: 

“I will provide for your outfit my child, and this time I think you will wear it, not merely for one transient hour but through a long and happy life.”

Joyful singing sounded out that evening from Euphorion’s little home.  Doris and her husband, and Pollux and Arsinoe, Diotima and Teuker, decked with garlands, reclined round the amphora which was wreathed with roses, drinking to pleasure and joy, to art and love, and to all the gifts of the present.  The sweet bride’s long hair was once more plaited with handsome blue ribbons.

Three weeks after these events Hadrian was again in Alexandria.  He kept aloof from all the festivals instituted in honor of the new god Antinous, and smiled incredulously when he was told that a new star had appeared in the sky, and that an oracle had declared it to be the soul of his lost favorite.

When Plutarch conducted the Emperor and his friends to see the Bacchus Antinous, which Pollux had completed in the clay, Hadrian was deeply struck and wished to know the name of the master who had executed this noble work of art.  Not one of his companion’s had the courage to speak the name of Pollux in his presence; only Pontius ventured to come forward for his young friend.  He related to Hadrian the hapless artist’s history and begged him to forgive him.  The Emperor nodded his approval, and said: 

“For the sake of this lost one he shall be forgiven.”

Pollux was brought into his presence, and Hadrian, holding out his hand said as he pressed the sculptor’s: