"Bridge and all, mother, everything," cried the young man. "Finer
granite for my lions, than my father has picked out for me is nowhere to
be found, and how glad I am for Antonius! only we must have patience
about the roadway. He wants to speak to you at once."

Dorothea signed to her son to moderate his ecstasy, for he had seized her
hand, and was pulling her away with him, but the tears that stood in her
kind eyes testified how deeply she sympathized in her favorite's
excitement.

"Patience, patience, I am coming directly," cried she, drawing away her
hand in order to arrange her dress and her grey hair, which was abundant
and carefully dressed, and formed a meet setting for her still pleasing
and unwrinkled face.

"I knew it would be so; when you have a reasonable thing to propose to
your father, he will always listen to you and agree with you without my
intervention; women should not mix themselves up with men's work. Youth
draws a strong bow and often shoots beyond the mark. It would be a
pretty thing if out of foolish affection for you I were to try to play
the siren that should ensnare the steersman of the house--your father--
with flattering words. You laugh at the grey-haired siren? But love
overlooks the ravages of years and has a good memory for all that was
once pleasing. Besides, men have not always wax in their ears when they
should have. Come now to your father."

Dorothea went out past Polykarp and her daughter. The former held his
sister back by the hand and asked--"Was not Sirona with you?"