called her name, at first softly not to frighten her, and then more
loudly. When she turned her head he begged her warmly not to be alarmed
far he was no ghost, only a very humble and ordinary mortal, in fact-as
she might see--nothing more, alas! than the son of Euphorian, the gate-
keeper, good for nothing as yet, but treading the path to something
better.

"You, Pollux?" asked the girl with surprise.

"The very man. But you--can I help you?"

"My poor father," sobbed Selene. "He does not stir, he is immovable--
and his face--oh! merciful gods."

"A man who snores is not dead," said the sculptor. "But the doctor told
him--"

"He is not even ill! Pontius only gave him stronger wine to drink than
he is used to. Let him be; he is sleeping with the pillow under his
neck, as comfortably as a child. When he began just now to trumpet a
little too loud I whistled as loud as a plover, for that often silences a
snorer; but I could more easily have made those stone Muses dance than
have roused him."

"If only we could get him to bed."

"Well, if you have four horses at hand."

"You are as bad as you ever were!"