n the mind of his irritable friend, and, as the
grammateus praised Nike because in this coronation she had omitted the
laurel, the fair-haired Greek interrupted him with the exclamation:

"Quite right, noble Proclus, the grave laurel does not suit our gay
pastime; but roses belong to the artist everywhere, and are always
welcome to him. The more, the better!"

"Then we will wait till the laurel is distributed in some other place,"
replied the grammateus; and Myrtilus quickly added, "I will answer for it
that Hermon does not leave it empty-handed."

"No one will greet the work which brings your friend the wreath of
victory with warmer joy," Proclus protested. "But, if I am correctly
informed, yonder house hides completed treasures whose inspection would
give the fitting consecration to this happy meeting. Do you know what an
exquisite effect gold and ivory statues produce in a full glow of
lamplight? I first learned it a short time ago at the court of King
Antiochus. There is no lack of lights here. What do you say, gentlemen?
Will you not have the studios lighted till the rooms are as bright as
day, and add a noble enjoyment of art to the pleasures of this wonderful
night?"

But Hermon and Myrtilus opposed this proposal with equal decision.

Their refusal awakened keen regret, and the old commandant of Pelusium
would not willingly yield to it.

Angrily shaking his large head, around which, in spite of his advanced
age, thick snowwhite locks floated like a lion's mane, he exclaimed,
"Must we then really return to our Pelusium, where Ares restricts the
native rights of the Muses, without having admired the noble works which
arose in such mysterious secrecy here, where Arachne rules and swings the
weaver's shuttle?"

"But my two cruel cousins have closed their doors even upon me, who came
here for the sake of their works," Daphne interrupted, "and, as rather
Zeus is threatening a storm--just see what black clouds are rising!--we
ought not to urge our artists further; a solemn oath forbids them to show
their creations now to any one."

This earnest assurance silenced the curious, and, while the conversation
took another turn, the gray-haired general's wife drew Myrtilus aside.

Hermon's parents had been intimate friends of her own, as well as of her
husband's, and with the interest of sincere affection she desired to know
whether the young sculptor could really hope for the success of which
Myrtilus had just spoke