But Hermon and Myrtilus opposed this proposal with equal decision.

Their refusal awakened keen regret, and the old commandant of Pelusium would not willingly yield to it.

Angrily shaking his large head, around which, in spite of his advanced age, thick snowwhite locks floated like a lion’s mane, he exclaimed, “Must we then really return to our Pelusium, where Ares restricts the native rights of the Muses, without having admired the noble works which arose in such mysterious secrecy here, where Arachne rules and swings the weaver’s shuttle?”

“But my two cruel cousins have closed their doors even upon me, who came here for the sake of their works,” Daphne interrupted, “and, as rather Zeus is threatening a storm—­just see what black clouds are rising!—­we ought not to urge our artists further; a solemn oath forbids them to show their creations now to any one.”

This earnest assurance silenced the curious, and, while the conversation took another turn, the gray-haired general’s wife drew Myrtilus aside.

Hermon’s parents had been intimate friends of her own, as well as of her husband’s, and with the interest of sincere affection she desired to know whether the young sculptor could really hope for the success of which Myrtilus had just spoken.

It was years since she had visited Alexandria, but what she heard of Hermon’s artistic work from many guests, and now again through Proclus, filled her with anxiety.

He had succeeded, it was said, in attracting attention, and his great talent was beyond question; but in this age, to which beauty was as much one of the necessities of life as bread and wine, and which could not separate it from art, he ventured to deny it recognition.  He headed a current in art which was striving to destroy what had been proved and acknowledged, yet, though his creations were undeniably powerful, and even showed many other admirable qualities, instead of pleasing, satisfying, and ennobling, they repelled.

These opinions had troubled the matron, who understood men, and was the more disposed to credit them the more distinctly she perceived traces of discontent and instability in Hermon’s manner during the present meeting.

So it afforded her special pleasure to learn from Myrtilus his firm conviction that, in Arachne, Hermon would produce a masterpiece which could scarcely be excelled.

During this conversation Althea had come to Thyone’s side, and, as Hermon had already spoken to her of the Arachne, she eagerly expressed her belief that this work seemed as if it were specially created for him.

The Greek matron leaned back comfortably upon her cushions, her wrinkled, owl-like face assumed a cheerful expression, and, with the easy confidence conferred by aristocratic birth, a distinguished social position, and a light heart, she exclaimed:  “Lucifer is probably already behind yonder clouds, preparing to announce day, and this exquisite banquet ought to have a close worthy of it.  What do you say, you wonder-working darling of the Muses”—­she held out her hand to Althea as she spoke—­” to showing us and the two competing artists yonder the model of the Arachne they are to represent in gold and ivory?”