“When Hadrian and Antinous first came down from the tower they brought with them as many of the instruments and manuscripts as they could carry.  When they were at the bottom Caesar observed that a tablet with important calculations had been left lying up above and expressed his regret.  Meanwhile the fire had already caught the slightly-built turret and it seemed impossible to get into it again.  But the dreamy Bithynian can wake out of his slumbers it would seem, and while Caesar was anxiously watching the burning bundles of flax which the wind kept blowing across to the harbor the rash boy rushed into the burning building, flung the tablet down from the top of the tower and then hurried down the stairs.  His bold action would indeed have cost the poor fellow his life if the slave Mastor; who meanwhile had hurried to the spot, had not dragged him down the stone stair of the old tower on which the new one stood and carried him into the open air.  He was half suffocated at the top of them and had dropped down senseless.”

“But he is alive, the splendid boy, the image of the gods! and he is out of danger?” cried Balbilla, with much anxiety.

“He is quite well; only his hands, as I said, are somewhat burnt, and his hair is singed, but that will grow again.”

“His soft, lovely curls!” cried Balbilla.  “Let us go home, Claudia.  The gardener shall cut a magnificent bunch of roses, and we will send it to Antinous to please him.”

“Flowers to a man who does not care about them?” asked Pontius, gravely.

“With what else can women reward men’s virtues or do honor to their beauty?” asked Balbilla.

“Our own conscience is the reward of our honest actions, or the laurel wreath from the hand of some famous man.”

“And beauty?”

“That of women claims and wins admiration, love too perhaps and flowers-that of men may rejoice the eye, but to do it Honor is a task granted to no mortal woman.”

“To whom, then, if I may ask the question?”

“To Art, which makes it immortal.”

“But the roses may bring some comfort and pleasure to the suffering youth.”

“Then send them-but to the sick boy, and not to the handsome man,” retorted Pontius.

Balbilla was silent, and she and her companion followed the architect to the harbor.  There he parted from them, putting them into a boat which took them back to the Caesareum through one of the arch-gates under the Heptastadium.

As they were rowed along the younger Roman lady said to the elder: 

“Pontius has quite spoilt my fun about the roses.  The sick boy is the handsome Antinous all the same, and if anybody could think—­well, I shall do just as I please; still it will be best not to cut the nosegay.”

CHAPTER XV.

The town was out of danger; the fire was extinct.  Pontius had taken no rest till noonday.  Three horses had he tired out and replaced by fresh ones, but his sinewy frame and healthy courage had till now defied every strain.  As soon as he could consider his task at an end he went off to his own house, and he needed rest; but in the hall of his residence he already found a number of persons waiting, and who were likely to stand between him and the enjoyment of it.