m
Antinous, who drew nearer to the canvas screen. "There is another whose
mouth waters and whose imagination revels in a happy future," said the
Emperor to the prefect, pointing to his favorite.

But he had misinterpreted the lad's exclamation, for it was the mere
name of the dish--which his mother had often set on the table of his
humble home in Bithynia--which reminded him of his native country and
his childhood, and transplanted him in thought back into their midst. It
was a swift leap at his heart, and not merely the pleasant watering of
his gums, that had forced the "Ah" to his lips. Still, he was glad to
see his native dish again, and would not have exchanged it against the
richest banquet. Pollux had meanwhile come out of his nook, and said:

"In a quarter of an hour I shall set before you the breakfast which has
been turned into a supper. Mitigate your worst hunger with some bread
and salt, and then my mother's cabbage-stew will not only satisfy you,
but will be enjoyed with calm appreciation."

"Greet dame Doris from me," Hadrian called after the sculptor; and when
Pollux had quitted the hall he turned to Titianus and Pontius and said:

"What a splendid young fellow. I am curious to see what he can do as an
artist."

"Then follow me," replied Pontius, leading the way.

"What do you say to this Urania? Papias made the head of the Muse, but
the figure and the drapery Pollux formed with his own hand in a few
days."

The imperial artist stood in front of the statue, with his arms crossed,
and remained there 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
se