it really did belong to the clasp Myrtilus wore, for, although
still unpractised in groping, he recognised that a human head was carved
in relief upon the stone, and Mrytilus's had been adorned with the
likeness of the Epicurean.

The damaged little work of art, in the opinion of Proclus and Daphne,
appeared to represent this philosopher, and at the thought that his
friend had fallen a victim to the flames Hermon bowed his head and
exerted all his strength of will in order not to betray by violent sobs
how deeply this idea pierced his heart.

Thyone, shrugging her shoulders mournfully, pointed to the suffering
artist. Proclus nodded significantly, and, moving nearer to Hermon,
informed him that he had sought out his Demeter and found the statue
uninjured. He was well aware that it would be presumptuous to offer
consolation in so heavy an affliction, and after the loss of his dearest
friend, yet perhaps Hermon would be glad to hear his assurance that he,
whose judgment was certainly not unpractised, numbered his work among
the most perfect which the sculptor's art had created in recent years.

"I myself best know the value of this Demeter," the sculptor broke in
harshly. "Your praise is the bit of honey which is put into the mouth of
the hurt child."

"No, my friend," Proclus protested with grave decision. "I should
express no less warmly the ardent admiration with which this noble
figure of the goddess fills me if you were well and still possessed your
sight. You were right just now when you alluded to my aversion, or, let
us say, lack of appreciation of the individuality of your art; but this
noble work changes everything, and nothing affords me more pleasure
than that I am to be the first to assure you how magnificently you have
succeeded in this statue."

"The first!" Hermon again interrupted harshly. "But the second and third
will be lacking in Alexandria. What a pleasure it is to pour the gifts
of sympathy upon one to whom we wish ill! But, however successful my
Demeter may be, you would have awarded the prize twice over to the one
by Myrtilus."

"Wrong, my young friend!" the statesman protested with honest zeal.
"All honour to the great dead, whose end was so lamentable; but in
this contest--let me swear it by the goddess herself!--you would
have remained victor; for, at the utmost, nothing can rank with the
incomparable save a work of equal merit, and--I know life and art--two
artists rarely or never succ