“He may come in—­was what he said,” replied the slave.

Keraunus grunted out, “Well!” set his gold circlet straight on his head which he held very upright, crossed his arms over his broad chest with a sigh, and ordered the black man: 

“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 your pious sentiments,” answered Hadrian, in the same tone as the steward.  “What farther may I learn from you?”

“I did not come here to relate history,” said Keraunus, whose gall rose as he thought he detected a mocking smile on the stranger’s lips.  “I did not come here to tell stories, but to complain that you, as a warmly-welcomed guest, show so little anxiety to protect your host from injury.”

“How is that?” asked Hadrian, rising from his seat and signing to Antinous to hold back the hound, which manifested a peculiar aversion to the steward.  It no doubt detected that he had come to show no special friendliness to his owner.

“Is that dangerous dog, gnashing its teeth there, your property?” asked Keraunus.

“Yes.”

This morning it threw down my daughter and smashed a costly pitcher, which she is fond of carrying to fetch water in the dawn.”

“I heard of that misadventure,” said Hadrian, “and I would give much if I could undo it.  The vessel shall be amply made good to you.”

“I beg you not to add insult to the injury, we have suffered by your fault.  A father whose daughter has been knocked down and hurt—­”