"Open the door."

The steward crossed the threshold with much dignity: then, not to commit
any breach of courtesy, he bowed low, and was about to begin to utter his
reprimand in cutting terms, when a glance at the Emperor and at the
splendid decoration which the room had undergone since the day previous,
not to mention the very unpleasant growling of the big dog, prompted him
to strike a milder string. His slave had followed him and had sought a
safe corner near the door, between the wall of the room and a couch, but
he himself, conquering his alarm at the dog, went forward some distance
into the room. The Emperor had seated himself on the window-sill; he
pressed his foot lightly on the head of the dog, and gazed at Keraunus as
at some remarkable curiosity. His eye thus met that of the steward and
made him clearly understand that he had to do with a greater personage
than he had expected. There was something imposing in the person of the
man who sat before him; for this very reason, however, his pride stood on
tiptoe, and he asked in a tone of swaggering dignity, though not so
sharply and abruptly as he had intended.

"Am I standing before the new visitor to Lochias, the architect Claudius
Venator of Rome?"

"You are--standing--" replied the Emperor, with a roguish side glance at
Antinous.

"You have met with a friendly reception to this palace. Like my fathers,
who have enjoyed the stewardship of it for centuries, I know how to
exercise the sacred duties of hospitality."

"I am surprised to hear of the high antiquity of your family and bow to