irst!" Hermon again interrupted harshly. "But the second and third
will be lacking in Alexandria. What a pleasure it is to pour the gifts of
sympathy upon one to whom we wish ill! But, however successful my Demeter
may be, you would have awarded the prize twice over to the one by
Myrtilus."

"Wrong, my young friend!" the statesman protested with honest zeal. "All
honour to the great dead, whose end was so lamentable; but in this
contest--let me swear it by the goddess herself!--you would have remained
victor; for, at the utmost, nothing can rank with the incomparable save a
work of equal merit, and--I know life and art--two artists rarely or
never succeed in producing anything so perfect as this masterpiece at the
same time and in the same place."

"Enough!" gasped Hermon, hoarse with excitement; but Proclus, with
increasing animation, continued: "Brief as is our acquaintance, you have
probably perceived that I do not belong to the class of flatterers, and
in Alexandria it has hardly remained unknown to you that the younger
artists number me, to whom the office of judge so often falls, among the
sterner critics. Only because I desire their best good do I frankly point
out their errors. The multitude provides the praise. It will soon flow
upon you also in torrents, I can see its approach, and as this blindness,
if the august Aesculapius and healing Isis aid, will pass away like a
dreary winter night, it would seem to me criminal to deceive you about
your own ability and success. I already behold you creating other works
to the delight of gods and men; but this Demeter extorts boundless,
enthusiastic appreciation; both as a whole, and in detail, it is
faultless and worthy of the most ardent praise. Oh, how long it is, my
dear, unfortunate friend, since I could congratulate any other
Alexandrian with such joyful confidence upon the most magnificent
success! Every word--you may believe it!--which comes to you in
commendation of this last work from lips unused to eulogy is sincerely
meant, and as I utter it to you I shall repeat it in the presence of the
King, Archias, and the other judges."

Daphne, with hurried breath, deeply flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes,
had fairly hung upon the lips of the clever connoisseur. She knew
Proclus, and his dreaded, absolutely inconsiderate acuteness, and was
aware that this praise expressed his deepest conviction. Had he been
dissatisfied with the statue of Demeter, or even merely sup