glad if he were like the prefect's guest."

"Yes, he is handsomer--how shall I say it--more like the gods than that
cold marble figure," Euphorion declared. "A grand noble, he is no doubt,
but still an artist too; I wonder whether he could be induced by Pontius
or Papias or Aristeas or one of the great painters to take the part of
Calchas the soothsayer in our group at the festival? He would perform it
in quite another way than that dry stick Philemon the ivory carver. Hand
me my lute; I have already forgotten again the beginning of the last
verse. Oh! my wretched memory! Thank you."

Euphorion loudly struck the strings and sang in a voice that was still
tolerably sweet and very well trained:

"'Sabina hail! Oh Sabina!--Hail; victorious hail to the conquering
goddess Sabina!' If only Pollux were here he would remind me of the
right words. 'Hail; victorious hail, to the thousand-fold Sabina!'--That
is nonsense. 'Hail, hail! divine hail to thee O all-conquering Sabina.'
No it was not that either. If a crocodile would only swallow this Sabina
I would give him that hot cake in yonder dish with pleasure, for his
pudding. But stay--I have it. 'Hail, a thousand-fold hail to the
conquering goddess Sabina!'"

Hadrian had heard all he wanted; while Euphorion went on repeating his
line a score or more of times to impress it on his recalcitrant memory.
Caesar turned his back on the gate-house, and while he and his companions
picked their way not without difficulty through the workmen who squatted
here and there and everywhere on the ground, he clapped Titianus more
than once on his shoulder, and after he had been received and welcomed by
Pontius, he exclaimed: