But now, in the sober light of day, how different did this mad, rash deed appear; how heavily had he already been punished; what consequences might it not entail?  His hatred of Paula grew every minute:  she had certainly seen all that had happened and would not hesitate to betray him—­that she had shown last night.  War, as it were, was declared between them, and he vowed to himself, with fire in his eyes, that he would not shirk it!  At the same time he could not deny that she had never looked handsomer than when she stood, with hair half undone, confronting him—­threatening him.  “It is to be love or hate between us.” he muttered to himself.  “No half-measures:  and she has chosen hate!  Good!  Hitherto I have only had to fight against men; but this bold, hard, and scornful maiden, who rejects every gentle feeling, is no despicable foe.  She has me at bay.  If she does her worst by me I will return it in kind!—­And who is the owner of the shoes?  I have taken all possible means to find him.  Shameful, shameful! that I cannot hold up my head to look boldly at my own face in the glass.  Heliodora is a sweet creature, an angel of kindness.  She loved me truly; but this—­this—­Ah; even for her, this is too great a sacrifice!”

He pressed his hand to his brow and flung himself on a divan.  He might well be weary, for he had not closed his eyes for more than thirty hours and had already done much business that morning.  He had given orders to Sebek the house-steward and to the captain of the Egyptian guard to hunt out the owner of the sandals by the aid of the dogs, and to cast him into prison; next he had of his own accord—­since his father generally did not fall asleep till the morning and had not yet left his room—­tried to pacify the Arab merchant with regard to the mishap that had befallen his head man under the governor’s roof; but with small success.

Finally the young man had indulged his desire to compose a few lines addressed to the fair Heliodora—­for there was no form of physical or mental effort to which he was not trained.  He had not lost the idea that had occurred to him yesterday before his theft in the tablinum, and to put it into verse was in his present mood an easy task.  He wrote as follows: 

   “‘Like liketh like’ saith the saw; and like to like is but fitting. 
   Yet, in the hardest of gems thy soft nature rejoices? 
   Nay, but if noble and rare, if its beauty is priceless,
   Then, Heliodora, the stone is like thee—­akin to thy beauty. 
   Thus let this emerald please thee;—­and know that the fire
   That fills it with light burns more fierce in the heart of thy
                              Friend.”