“Call him here,” said the Emperor.

But before the architect could comply with his desire the sculptor’s head had appeared above the screen.  The young man had heard the approaching voices and steps; he greeted the prefect respectfully from his elevated position, and after satisfying his curiosity was about to spring down from the stool on which he had climbed when Pontius called to him that Claudius Venator, the architect from Rome, wished to make his acquaintance.

“That is very kind in him, and still more kind in you,” Pollux answered from above, “since it is only from you that he can know that I exist beneath the moon, and use the hammer and chisel.  Allow me to descend from my four-legged cothurnus, for at present you are forced to look up to me, and from all I have heard of your talents from Pontius, nothing can be more absolutely the reverse of what it ought to be.”

“Nay, stop where you are,” answered Hadrian.  “We, as fellow-artists, may waive ceremony.—­What are you doing in there?”

“I will push the screen back in a moment and show you our Urania.  It is very good for an artist to hear the opinion of a man who thoroughly understands the thing.”

“Presently, friend-presently; first let me enjoy a scrap of bread, for the severity of my hunger might very possibly influence my judgment.”

As he was speaking the architect offered the Emperor a salver with bread, salt, and a cup of wine, which his own slave had carried to him.  When Pollux observed this modest meal, he called out: 

“That is prisoners’ fare, Pontius; have we nothing better in the house than that?”

“Possibly you yourself assisted in demolishing the dainty dishes I had sent down for the architect,” cried Titianus, pretending to threaten him.

“You are defacing a fair memory,” sighed the sculptor, with mock melancholy.  “But, by Hercules, I did my fair share of the work of destruction.  If only now—­but stay!  I have an idea worthy of Aristotle himself! that breakfast, to which I invited you to-morrow morning, most noble Pontius, is all ready at my mother’s, and can be warmed up in a few minutes.  Do not be alarmed, worthy sir, but the dish in question is cabbage with sausages—­a mess which, like the soul of an Egyptian, possesses at the instant of resurrection, nobler qualities than when it first sees the light.”

“Excellent,” cried Hadrian.  “Cabbage and sausages!” He wiped his full lips with his hand, smiling with gratification, and he broke into a hearty laugh of amusement as he heard a loud “Ah!” of satisfaction from Antinous, who drew nearer to the canvas screen.  “There is another whose mouth waters and whose imagination revels in a happy future,” said the Emperor to the prefect, pointing to his favorite.