“This monster drunk, Selene sick, and you running about the streets.”

“But no one stops at home to-day,” replied the slave timidly.

“Be off then!” cried Keraunus.  “Walk about from now till midnight!  Do as you please, only do not expect me to keep you any longer.  You are still fit to turn the hand-mill, and I dare say I can find a fool to give me a few drachmae for you.”

“No, no, do not sell me,” groaned the old man, raising his hands in entreaty; Keraunus however would not hear him, but went on angrily: 

“A dog at least remains faithful to his master, but you slaves eat him out of house and home, and when he most needs you, you want to run about the streets.”

“But I will stay,” howled the old man.

“Nay, do as you please.  You have long been like a lame horse which makes its rider a butt for the laughter of children.  When, you go out with me everyone looks round as if I had a stain on my pallium.  And then the mangy dog wants to keep holiday, and stick himself up among the citizens!”

“I will stay here, only do not sell me!” whimpered the miserable old man, and he tried to take his master’s hand; but the steward shoved him off, and desired him to go into the kitchen and light a fire, and throw some water on the old woman’s head to sober her.  The slave pushed his companion out of the room, while Keraunus went into his daughter’s bedroom to rouse her.

There was no light in Arsinoe’s room but that which could creep in through a narrow opening just below the ceiling; the slanting rays fell directly on the bed up to which Keraunus went.  There lay his daughter n sound sleep; her pretty head rested on her uplifted right arm, her unbound brown hair flowed like a stream over her soft round shoulders and over the edge of the little bed.  He had never seen the child look so pretty, and the sight of her really touched his heart, for Arsinoe reminded him of his lost wife, and it was not vain pride merely, but a movement of true paternal love, which involuntarily transformed his earnest wish that the gods night leave him this child and let her be happy, into an unspoken but fervent prayer.

He was not accustomed to waking his daughter who was always up and busy before he was, and he could hardly bear to disturb his darling’s sweet sleep; but it had to be done, so he called Arsinoe by her name, shook her arm and said, as at last she sat up and looked at him enquiringly: 

“It is I, get up, remember what has to be done today.”

“Yes—­yes,” she said yawning, “but it is so early yet!”

“Early,” said Keraunus, smiling.  “My stomach says the contrary.  The sun is already high, and I have not yet had my porridge.”

“Make the old woman cook it.”

“No, no, my child—­you must get up.  Have you forgotten whom you are to represent?  And my hair is to be curled, and the prefect’s wife, and then your dress.”