ale
slaves--saw him rush into the women's room with a glowing face, she rose
with youthful briskness in spite of her stout and dignified figure, and
called out to her son:

"He has approved of your plans?"

"Bridge and all, mother, everything," cried the young man. "Finer
granite for my lions, than my father has picked out for me is nowhere
to be found, and how glad I am for Antonius! only we must have patience
about the roadway. He wants to speak to you at once."

Dorothea signed to her son to moderate his ecstasy, for he had seized
her hand, and was pulling her away with him, but the tears that stood
in her kind eyes testified how deeply she sympathized in her favorite's
excitement.

"Patience, patience, I am coming directly," cried she, drawing away her
hand in order to arrange her dress and her grey hair, which was abundant
and carefully dressed, and formed a meet setting for her still pleasing
and unwrinkled face.

"I knew it would be so; when you have a reasonable thing to propose to
your father, he will always listen to you and agree with you without my
intervention; women should not mix themselves up with men's work. Youth
draws a strong bow and often shoots beyond the mark. It would be a
pretty thing if out of foolish affection for you I were to try to
play the siren that should ensnare the steersman of the house--your
father--with flattering words. You laugh at the grey-haired siren? But
love overlooks the ravages of years and has a good memory for all that
was once pleasing. Besides, men have not always wax in their ears when
they should have. Come now to your father."

Dorothea went out past Polykarp and her daughter. The former held his
sister back by the hand and asked--"Was not Sirona with you?"

The sculptor tried to appear quite indifferent, but he blushed as he
spoke; Marthana observed this and replied not without a roguish glance:
"She did show us her pretty face; but important business called her
away."

"Sirona?" asked Polykarp incredulously.

"Certainly, why not!" answered Marthana laughing. "She had to sew a new
gown for the children's doll."

"Why do you mock at her kindness?" said Polykarp reproachfully.

"How sensitive you are!" said Marthana softly. "Sirona is as kind and
sweet as an angel; but you had better look at her rather less, for she
is not one of us, and repulsive as the choleric centurion is to me--"

She said no more, for Dame Dorothea, having reached the door of the