the steward on purpose to give him his fill of meat, and
Keraunus had shown himself amenable to encouragement in this respect. But
after the last dish bad been removed the steward thought that good
manners demanded that he should honor his entertainer by his illustrious
presence, and at the same time the prefect's good wine loosened the
tongue of the man, who was not usually communicative.

First he spoke of the manifold infirmities which tormented him and
endangered his life, and when Pontius, to divert his talk into other
channels, was so imprudent as to allude to the Council of Citizens,
Keraunus gave full play to his eloquence, and, while he emptied cup after
cup of wine, tried to lay down the reasons which had made him and his
friends decide on staking everything in order to deprive the members of
the extensive community of Jews in the city of their rights as citizens,
and to expel them, if possible, from Alexandria. So warm was his zeal
that he totally forgot the presence of the architect, and his humble
origin, and declared to be indispensable, that even the descendants of
freed-slaves should be disenfranchised.

Pontius saw in the steward's inflamed eyes and cheeks that it was the
wine which spoke within him, and he made no answer; and determined that
the rest he needed should not be thus abridged, he rose from table and
briefly excusing himself he retired to the room in which the couch had
been prepared for him. After he had undressed he desired his slave to see
what Keraunus was about, and soon received the reassuring information
that the steward was fast asleep and snoring.

"Only listen," said the slave, to confirm his report. "You can hear him
grunting and snuffing as far as this. I pushed a cushion under his head,
for otherwise, so full as he is, the stout gentleman might come to some
harm."

Love is a plant which springs up for many who have never sown it, and
grows into a spreading tree for many who have neither fostered nor tended
it. How little had Keraunus ever done to win the heart of his daughter,
how much on the contrary which could not fail to overshadow and trouble
her young life. And yet Selene, whose youth--for she was but
nineteen--needed repose and to whom the evening with the reprieve of
sleep brought more pleasure than the morning with its load of cares and
labor, sat by the three-branched lamp and watched, and tormented herself
more and more as it grew later and later, at her father's