a, under the orders of Pontius the
architect. And till long past midnight not a quarter of an hour passed in
which the people whom the architect had summoned to his aid were not
knocking at the harbor gates, which, though not locked were all guarded.
The little house belonging to the gate-keeper was also brightly lighted
up; the birds and cats belonging to the old woman whom the prefect and
his companions had found slumbering by her wine-jar, were now fast
asleep, but the little dogs still flew loudly yelping into the yard each
time a new-comer entered by the open gate.

"Come, Aglaia, what will folks think of you? Thalia, my beauty, behave
like a good dog; come here, Euphrosyne, and don't be so silly!" cried the
old lady in a voice which was both pleasant and peremptory, as she
stood-wide awake now-behind her table, folding together the dried
clothes. The little barking beasts who were thus endowed with the names
of the three Graces did not trouble themselves much about her
affectionate admonitions; to their sorrow, for it happened more than once
to each of them, when they had got under the feet of some new-comer, to
creep, whining and howling, into the house again to seek consolation from
their mistress, who would pick up the sufferer and soothe it with kisses
and coaxing.

The old lady was no longer alone, for in the background, on a long and
narrow couch which stood in front of the statue of Apollo, lay a tall,
lean man, wearing a red chiton. A little lamp hanging from the ceiling
threw a dull light on him and on the lute he was playing. To the faint
sound of the instrument, which was rather a large one, and which he had
propped on the pillow by his side, he was singing, or rather murmuring a
long ditty. Twice, thrice, four times he repeated it in the same way. Now
and again he suddenly let his voice sound more loudly--and though his
hair was quite grey his voice was not unpleasing--and sang a few phrases
full of expression and with artistic delivery; and then, when the dogs
barked too vehemently, he would spring up, and with his lute in his
left-hand and a long pliable rattan in his right, he would rush into the
court-yard, shout the names of the dogs, and raise his cane as if he
would kill them; but he always took care not to hit them, only to beat on
the pavement near them. When, returning from such an excursion, he
stretched himself again on his couch, the old woman, pointing to the
hanging-lamp which the impat