In order to carry out this purpose then and there, he called some slaves up to help him in the alteration.  This gave rise, more than once, to a warning cry, and the loud talking and ordering on this spot, for so many years left solitary and silent, attracted an inquirer, who, soon after the apprentice had begun his work, had shown herself on the balcony, but who had soon retreated after casting a glance at the dirty lad, splashed from head to foot with plaster.  This time, however, she remained to watch, following every movement of Pollux as he directed the slaves; though, all the time and whatever he was doing, he turned his back upon her.

At last the portrait-head had found its right position, shrouded still in a cloth to preserve it from the marks of workmen’s hands.  With a deep breath the artist turned full on the steward’s house, and immediately a clear merry voice called out: 

“What, tall Pollux!  It really is tall Pollux; how glad I am!”

With these words the girl on the balcony loudly clapped her hands; and as the sculptor hailed her in return, and shouted: 

“And you are little Arsinoe, eternal gods!  What the little thing has come to!” She stood on tip-toe to seem taller, nodded at him pleasantly, and laughed out:  “I have not done growing yet; but as for you, you look quite dignified with the beard on your chin, and your eagle’s nose.  Selene did not tell me till to-day that you were living down there with the others.”

The artist’s eyes were fixed on the girl, as if spellbound.  There are poetic natures in which the imagination immediately transmutes every new thing that strikes the eyes or the intelligence, into a romance, or rapidly embodies it in verse; and Pollux, like many of his calling, could never set his eyes on a fine human form and face, without instantly associating them with his art.

“A Galatea—­a Galatea without an equal!” thought he, as he stood with his eyes fixed on Arsinoe’s face and figure.  “Just as if she had this instant risen from the sea—­that form is just as fresh, and joyous, and healthy; and her little curls wave back from her brow as if they were still floating on the water; and now as she stoops, how full and supple in every movement.  It is like a daughter of Nereus following the line of the as the waves as they rise into crests and dip again into watery valleys.  She is like Selene and her mother in the shape of her head and the Greek cut of her face, but the elder sister is like the statue of Prometheus before it had a soul, and Arsinoe is like the Master’s work after the celestial fire coursed through her veins.”

The artist had felt and thought all this out in a few seconds, but the girl found her speechless admirer’s silence too long, and exclaimed impatiently: 

“You have not yet offered me any proper greeting.  What are you doing down there?”

“Look here,” he replied, lifting the cloth from the portrait, which was a striking likeness.