"A little less so, Selene, only you must become accustomed again to my
way of speaking. This time I only mean that we two together are not
strong enough to carry him away."

"But what can I do, then? The doctor said--"

"Never mind the doctor. The complaint your father is suffering from is
one I know well. It will be gone to-morrow, perhaps by sundown, and the
only pain it will leave behind, he will feel under his wig. Only leave
him to sleep."

"But it is so cold here."

"Take my cloak and cover him with that."

"Then you will be frozen."

"I am used to it. How long has Keraunus had dealings with the doctor?"

Selene related the accident that had befallen her father and how
justified were her fears. The sculptor listened to her in silence and
then said in a quite altered tone:

"I am truly sorry to hear it. Let us put some cold water on his forehead,
and until the slaves come back again I will change the wet cloth every
quarter of an hour. Here is a jar and a handkerchief--good, they might
have been left on purpose. Perhaps, too, it will wake him, and if not the
people shall carry him to his own rooms."

"Disgraceful, disgraceful!" sighed the girl.

"Not at all; the high-priest of Serapis even is sometimes unwell. Only
let me see to it."

"It will excite him afresh if he sees you. He is so angry with you--so
very angry."

"Omnipotent Zeus, what harm have I done you, fat father! The gods forgive
the sins of the wise, and a man will not forgive the fault committed by a
stupid lad in a moment of imprudence."

"You mocked at him."

"I set a clay head that was like him on the shoulders of the fat Silenus
near the gate, that had lost its own head. It was my first piece of
independent work."

"But you did it to vex my father."

"Certainly not, Selene; I was delighted with the joke and nothing more."

"But you knew how touchy he is."

"And does a wild boy of fifteen ever reflect on the consequences of his
audacity? If he had but given me a thrashing his annoyance would have
discharged itself like thunder and lightning, and the air would have been
clear again. But, as it was, he cut the face off the work with a knife,
and deliberately trod the pieces under foot as they lay on the ground. He
gave me one single blow--with his thumb--which I still feel, it is true,
and then he treated me and my parents with such scorn, so coldly and
hardly, with such bitter contempt--"

"He never is really violent, but