Glad to obey his mistress's orders to settle at once any debts which the
artist might have in Tennis, the steward followed the goldsmith while
Hermon, seizing the huge goblet which had just been filled with wine and
water for him drained it at one long draught. Then, with sigh of relief,
he restored it to its place, raised his hand and his blinded eyes
heavenward, and offered a brief, fervent thanksgiving to his mother's
soul and the great Demeter, whom, he might now believe it himself, he had
honoured with a masterpiece which had extorted warm admiration even from
a connoisseur unfriendly his art.

When Gras returned, he said, with a grin of satisfaction, that the
goldsmith was like all the rest of his countrymen. The artists did not
owe him another drachm; the never-to-be-forgotten Myrtilus had paid for
the work ordered by Hermon also.

Then, for the first time since he had been led on board the ship, a gay
laugh rang fro the blind man's lips, rising in deep, pure, joyous tones
from his relieved breast.

The faithful gray eyes of honest Gras glittered with tears at the musical
tones, and how ardently he wished for his beloved mistress when the
sculptor, not content with this, exclaimed as gleefully as in happier
days: "Hitherto I have had no real pleasure from my successful work, old
Gras, but it is awaking now! If my Myrtilus were still alive, and these
miserable eyes yet possessed the power of rejoicing in the light and in
beautiful human forms, by the dog! I would have the mixing vessels
filled, wreath after wreath brought, boon companions summoned, and with
flute-playing, songs, and fiery words, offer the Muses, Demeter, and
Dionysus their due meed of homage!"