here for some time in silence. Then he nodded his bearded
head approvingly, and said gravely:

"A well-considered work, and carried out with remarkable freedom; this
mantle drawn over the bosom would not disgrace a Phidias. All is broad,
characteristic and true. Did the young artist work from the model here at
Lochias?"

"I have seen no model, and I believe that he evolved the whole figure out
of his head," replied Pontius.

"Impossible, perfectly impossible," cried the Emperor, in the tone of a
man who knows well what he is talking about. "Such lines, such forms not
Praxiteles himself could have invented. He must have seen them, have
formed them as he stood face to face with the living copy. We will ask
him. What is to be made out of that newly-set-up mass of clay?"

"Possibly the bust of some princess of the house of the Lagides.
To-morrow you shall see a head of Berenice by our young friend, which
seems to me to be one of the best things ever done in Alexandria."

"And is the lad a proficient in magic?" asked Hadrian. "It seems to me
simply impossible that he should have completed this statue and a woman's
bust in these few days."

Pontius explained to the Emperor that Pollux had mounted the head on a
bust already to hand, and as he answered his questions without reserve,
he revealed to him what stupendous exertions of the arts had been called
into requisition to give the dilapidated palace a suitable and, in its
kind, even brilliant appearance. He frankly confessed that here he was
working only for effect, and talked to Hadrian exactly as he would have
discussed the same subject with any other fellow-artist.

While the Emperor and the architect were thus eagerly conversing, and the
prefect was hearing from Phlegon, the secretary, all the experience of
their journey, Pollux reappeared in the hall of the Muses accompanied by
his father. The singer carried before him a steaming mess, fresh cakes of
bread, and the pasty which a few hours previously he had carried home to
his wife from the architect's table. Pollux held to his breast a
tolerably large two-handled jar full of Mareotic wine, which he had
hastily wreathed with branches of ivy.

A few minutes later the Emperor was reclining on a mattress that had been
laid for him, and was making his way valiantly through the savory mess.
He was in the happiest humor; he called Antinous and his secretary,
heaped abundant portions with his own hand on their plates, wh