This answer, however, by no means appeased Hermon’s impatience.  He commanded that a special messenger should be sent to summon the goldsmith, and the Bithynian received the order with a slight shake of his round head.

What new trouble had befallen the usually alert young artist that he received this unexpected change in his situation as apathetically as a horse which is led from one stall to another, and, instead of questioning him, thought only of hastening his interview with the goldsmith?  If his mistress, who had left him full of anxiety from the fear that her departure would deeply agitate the blind man, should learn how indifferently he had received it!  He, Gras, certainly would not betray it.  Eternal gods—­these artists!  He knew them.  Their work was dearer to their hearts than their own lives, love, or friendship.

During breakfast, of which the steward was obliged to remind him, Hermon pondered over his fate; but how could he attain any degree of clearness of vision until he secured accurate information concerning the statue of Demeter?  Like a dark cloud, which sweeps over the starry sky and prevents the astronomer from seeing the planets which he desires to observe, the fear that Proclus’s praise had been bestowed upon the work of Myrtilus stood between him and every goal of his thought.

Only the fact that he still remained blind, and not even the faintest glimmer of light pierced the surrounding darkness, while the sun continued its course with glowing radiance, and that, blinded and beggared, he must despise himself if he sought to win Daphne, was certain.  No reflection could alter it.

Again the peace of mind which he thought he had regained during slumber was destroyed.  Fear of the artisan’s statement even rendered it impossible to pray to his mother with the affectionate devotion he had felt the day before.

The goldsmith had directed the rescue of the Demeter, yet he would scarcely have been able to distinguish it from the statue by Myrtilus; for though, like his friend, he had often employed his skilful hands in the arrangement of the gold plates at the commencement of the work, the Egyptian had been summoned to Tennis before the statues had attained recognisable form.  He had not entered the studios for several months, unless Bias had granted him admittance without informing his master.  This was quite possible, for the slave’s keen eyes certainly had not failed to notice how little he and Myrtilus valued the opinion of the honest, skilful, but extremely practical and unimaginative man, who could not create independently even the smallest detail.

So it was impossible to determine at present whether Chello had seen the finished statues or not, yet Hermon desired the former with actual fervour, that he might have positive certainty.