his feelings.  She had hitherto found no difficulty in keeping within the limits of what was becoming.  But lately there had been moments in which she had owned to herself that she might be carried away into overstepping these limits.  But what did she care for the opinion of those around her, or about the inner life of the Bithyman, whose external perfection of form was all that pleased her.  She did not shrink from the possibility of arousing hopes in him which she never could nor intended to fulfil, for the idea did not once enter her mind; still she felt dissatisfied with herself, for there was one person who might disapprove of her proceedings, one who had indeed in plain words reprehended her fancy for doing honor to the handsome boy with offerings of flowers, and the opinion of that one person weighed with her more than that of all the rest of the men and women she knew, put together.

This one was Pontius the architect; and yet, strangely enough, it was precisely her remembrance of him that urged her on from one folly to another.  She had often seen the architect in Alexandria, and when they parted she had allowed him to promise to follow her and the Empress, and to escort them at any rate for a part of their voyage up the Nile.  But he came not, nor had he sent any report of himself, though he was alive and well, and every express that overtook them brought documents for Caesar in his handwriting.

So he, on whose faithful devotion she had built as on a rock, was no less self-seeking and fickle than other men.  She thought of him every day and every hour; and as soon as a vessel from the north cast anchor within sight, she watched the voyagers as they disembarked to detect him among them.  She longed for Pontius as a traveller who has lost his way sighs for a sight of the guide who has deserted him; and yet she was angry with him, for he had betrayed by a thousand tokens that he esteemed and cared for her, that she had a certain power over his strong will—­and now he had broken his word and did not come.

And she?  She had not been unmoved by his devotion, and had been gentler to this grandson of her father’s freed slave than to the best-born man of her own rank.  And in spite of it all Pontius could spoil all the pleasure of her journey and stay in Alexandria instead of following in her wake.  He could easily have intrusted his building to other architects—­the great metropolis was swarming with them!  Well, if he did not trouble himself about her she certainly need care even less about him.  Perhaps at last, at the end of their travels he might yet come, and then he should see how much she cared for his admonitions.