he interrupted himself, exclaiming in surprise: "By the club of
Hercules, the Proserpina is to be received with a full chorus! And there
is the owner himself descending the stairs! Whom is she bringing?"

"Come! come!" cried the dancing girl to her companion, dragging him
after her, "I shall die of curiosity."

The singing and shouting of many voices greeted the actors as they
approached the platform of the Temple of Poseidon.

When from this spot the dancer fixed her eyes upon the landing place,
she suddenly dropped her companion's arm, exclaiming: "It is the
handsome blind sculptor, Hermon, the heir of the wealthy Myrtilus. Do
you learn this now for the first time, you jealous Thersites? Hail,
hail, divine Hermon! Hail, noble victim of the ungrateful Olympians!
Hail to thee, Hermon, and thy immortal works! Hail, hail, hail!"

Meanwhile she waved her handkerchief with frenzied eagerness, as if she
could thus force the blind man to see her, and a group of actors whom
Proclus, the grammateus of the Dionysian arts, had sent here to receive
Hermon worthily, followed her example.

But her cries were drowned by the singing of the chorus and by thousands
of shouting voices, while Hermon was embraced by Archias on board the
galley, and then, by his guidance, stepped on shore and ascended the
staircase of the Temple of Poseidon.

Before the ship entered the harbour, the artist had had a large goblet
of unmixed wine given to him, that he might conquer the emotion that had
overpowered him.

Though his blind eyes did not show him even the faintest outline of a
figure, he felt as if he was flooded with brilliant sunshine.

While the Proserpina was bearing him past the lighthouse, Gras told him
that they had now reached the great harbour, and at the same time he
heard the shouts, whistles, signals, and varying sounds of the landing
place with its crowded shipping, and of the capital.

His blood surged in his veins, and before his mind rose the vision of
the corn-flower blue sky, mirrored in the calm surface of the bluest of
seas. The pharos built by Sostratus towered in dazzling whiteness above
the tide, and before him rose the noble temple buildings, palaces, and
porticoes of the city of Alexandria, with which he was familiar, and
before and between them statue after statue of marble and bronze, the
whole flooded with radiant golden light.

True, darkness sometimes swallowed this wonderful picture, but an effort
of the w