“He belongs—­he belongs to us.  We arrived late last night, and Pontius put us—­”

“Then you are with the architect from Rome?”

“Yes, but who are you?”

“Selene is my name, I am the daughter of the palace-steward.”

“And who is Pollux, whom you were calling to help you when you recovered your senses?”

“What does that matter to you?”

Antinous colored, and answered in confusion: 

“I was startled when you suddenly roused up, with his name so loudly on your lips, when I brought you back to life with water and this essence.”

“Well, I was roused—­and now I can walk again.  People who bring furious dogs into a strange place, should know how to take better care of them.  Tie the dog up safely, for the children—­my little brothers and sisters—­come this way when they want to go out.  Thank you for your help—­and my pitcher?”

As she spoke she looked down on the remains of the pretty jar, which was one her mother had particularly valued.  When she saw the fragments lying on the ground, she gave a deep sob, but she shed no tears.  Then she exclaimed angrily:  “It is infamous!”

With these words she turned her back on Antinous and returned to her father’s room, using her left foot, however, with caution, for it was very painful.

The young Bithynian gazed in silence at Selene’s tall, slight form, he felt prompted to follow her, to say to her how very sorry he was for the mischance that had befallen her, and that the hound belonged not to him but to another man; but he dared not.  Long after she had disappeared from sight he stood on the same spot.  At last he collected his senses, and slowly went back to his room, where he sat on his couch with his eyes fixed dreamily on the ground, till the Emperor’s call roused him from his reverie.

Selene had hardly vouchsafed Antinous a glance.  She was in pain not merely in her left foot, but also in the back of her head where she found there was a deep cut; but her thick hair had staunched the blood that flowed from the wound.  She felt very tired, and the loss of her pretty jug, which must also be replaced by another, vexed her far more than the beauty of the favorite had charmed her.

She slowly and wearily entered the sitting-room, where her father was by this time waiting for her and his water.  He was accustomed to have it regularly at the same hour, and as Selene was absent longer than usual, he could think of no better way of filling up the time than by grumbling and scolding to himself; when, at last, his daughter appeared on the threshold, he at once perceived that she had no jug, and said crossly: 

“And am I to have no water to-day?”

Selene shook her head, sank into a seat, and began to cry softly.

“What is the matter?” asked her father.

“The pitcher is broken,” she said sadly.

“You should take better care of such expensive things,” scolded her father.  “You are always complaining of want of money, and at the same time you break half our belongings.”