eeded.

He began by ascertaining whether Chello remembered the interior
arrangement of the burned white house, and it soon appeared that he
recollected it accurately.

Then the blind man requested him to tell how the rescue of the statue had
been managed, and the account of the extremely prosaic artisan described
so clearly and practically how, on entering the burning building, he
found Myrtilus's studio already inaccessible, but the statue of Demeter
in Hermon's still uninjured, that the trustworthiness of his story could
not be doubted.

One circumstance only appeared strange, yet it was easily explained.
Instead of standing on the pedestal, the Demeter was beside it, and even
the slow-witted goldsmith inferred from this fact that the robbers had
intended to steal it and placed it on the floor for that purpose, but
were prevented from accomplishing their design by the interference of
Hermon and the people from Tennis.

After the Egyptian, in reply to the artist's inquiry concerning what
other works of art and implements he had seen in the studio, had answered
that nothing else could be distinguished on account of the smoke, he
congratulated the sculptor on his last work. People were already making a
great stir about the new Demeter. It had been discussed not only in the
workshop of his brother, who, like himself, followed their father's
calling, but also in the offices, at the harbour, in the barbers' rooms
and the cookshops, and he, too, must admit that, for a Greek goddess,
that always lacked genuine, earnest dignity, it really was a pretty bit
of work.

Lastly, the Egyptian asked to whom he should apply for payment for the
remainder of his labour.

The strip of gold, from which Hermon had ordered the diadem to be made,
had attracted his attention on the head of his Demeter, and compensation
for the work upon this ornament was still due.

Hermon, deeply agitated, asked, with glowing cheeks, whether Chello
really positively remembered having prepared for him the gold diadem
which he had seen in Alexandria, and the Egyptian eagerly assured him
that he had done so. Hitherto he had found the sculptors honest men, and
Hermon would not withhold the payment for his well-earned toil.

The artist strenuously denied such an intention; but when, in his desire
to have the most absolute assurance, he again asked questions about the
diadem, the Egyptian thought that the blind sculptor doubted the justice
of his demand,