But he was not allowed to get to the end of this evidence of his skill, for Euphorion the door-keeper of the palace, Euphorion the father of Pollux, ran hastily into the hall of the Muses with a letter in his hand which he gave to the architect.

“To be read without an instant’s delay,” he added, bowing with theatrical dignity to the assembled artists.  “One of the prefect’s lictors brought this letter, which, if my wishes be granted, brings nothing that is unwelcome.  Hold your noise you little blackguards or I will be the death of you.”

These words, which so far as the tone was concerned, formed a somewhat inharmonious termination to a speech intended for the ears of great artists, were addressed to his wife’s four-footed Graces who had followed him against his wish, and were leaping round the table barking for the slender remains of the consumed food.

Pontius was fond of animals and had made friends with the old woman’s pets, so, as he opened the prefect’s letter, he said: 

“I invite the three little guests to the remains of our feast.  Give them anything that is fit for them, Euphorion, and whatever seems to you most suitable to your own stomach you may put into it.”

While the architect first rapidly glanced through the letter and then read it carefully, the singer had collected a variety of good morsels for his wife’s favorites on a plate, and finally carried the last remaining pasty, with the dish on which it reposed, to the vicinity of his own hooked nose.

“For men or for dogs?” he asked his son, as he pointed to it with a rigid finger.

“For the gods!” replied Pollux.  “Take it to mother; she will like to eat ambrosia for once.”

“A jolly evening to you!” cried the singer, bowing to the artists who were emptying their cups, and he quitted the hall with his pasty and his dogs.  Before he had fairly left the hall with his long strides, Papias, whose speech had been interrupted, once more raised his wine-cup and began again: 

“Our Deucalion, our more than Deucalion—­”

“Pardon me,” interrupted Pontius.  “If I once more stop your discourse which began so promisingly; this letter contains important news and our revels must be over for the night.  We must postpone our symposium and your drinking-speech.”

“It was not a drinking-speech, for if ever there was a moderate man—­” Papias began.  But Pontius stopped him again, saying: 

“Titianus writes me word that he proposes coming to Lochias this evening.  He may arrive at any moment; and not alone, but with my fellow-artist, Claudius Venator from Rome, who is to assist me with his advice.”

“I never even heard his name,” said Papias, who was wont to trouble himself as little about the persons as about the works of other artists.

“I wonder at that,” said Pontius, closing the double tablets which announced the Emperor’s advent.

“Can he do anything?” asked Pollux.