Hermon listened to the pair in silence.

He had not been able to see them, it is true, yet he had perceived their design as if the loss of sight had sharpened his mental vision.  He imagined that he could see the favourite and Althea nudge each other with sneering gestures, and believed that their sole purpose was to render him—­he knew not for what object—­the obedient tool of the Queen, who had probably also succeeded in persuading his usually cautious uncle to render her great services.

The remembrance of Arsinoe’s undignified conduct at the Dionysia, and the shameful stories of her which he had heard returned to his mind.  At the same time he saw Daphne rise before him in her aristocratic dignity and kindly goodness, and a smile of satisfaction hovered around his lips as he said to himself:  “The spider Althea again!  But, in spite of my blindness, I will be caught neither in her net nor in the Queen’s.  They are the last to bar the way which leads to Daphne and real happiness.”

The Rhodian was just beginning to praise Arsinoe also as a special friend and connoisseur of the sculptor’s art when Crates, Hermon’s fellow-student, asked the blind artist, in behalf of his beautiful companion, why his Demeter was placed upon a pedestal which, to others as well as himself, seemed too high for the size of the statue.

Hermon replied that he had heard several make this criticism, but the priests of the goddess refused to take it into account.

Here he hesitated, for, like a blow from an invisible hand, the thought darted through his mind that perhaps, on the morrow, he would see himself compelled before the whole world to cast aside the crown of fame which he owed to the statue on the lofty pedestal.  He did not have even the remotest idea of continuing to deck himself with false renown if his dread was realized; yet he doubtless imagined how this whole aristocratic circle, with the Queen, Althea, and Proclus at its head, would turn with reckless haste from the hapless man who had led them into such a shameful error.

Yet what mattered it, even if these miserable people considered themselves deceived and pointed the finger of scorn at him?  Better people would thereby be robbed of the right to accuse him of faithlessness to himself.  This thought darted through his heated brain like a flash of lightning, and when, in spite of his silence, the conversation was continued and Althea told the others that only Hermon’s blindness had prevented the creation of a work which could have been confidently expected far to surpass the Demeter, since it seemed to have been exactly suited to his special talent, he answered his beautiful companion’s remark curtly and absently.

She perceived this with annoyance and perplexity.

A woman who yearns for the regard of all men, and makes love a toy, easily lessens the demands she imposes upon individuals.  Only, even though love has wholly disappeared, she still claims consideration, and Althea did not wish to lose Hermon’s regard.