“Come, Hera! Be the Medea to this starving Jason,” said the father, catching the infection of his son’s high spirits. Hera went to the hearth, and distributed from a boiling pot a thick soup of barley and vegetables. “O my mother! My favorite broth!” exclaimed Gannon. “A kiss for thy kindness and thy goodness.” Hera smiled as she received her son’s token of gratitude and affection. “What news hast thou to feed our curiosity to-night, my son?” asked Alcmaeon. “I have carried letters to Livilla since I last saw thee.” “To the wife of Drusus?” he asked, in surprise. “Ay, father,--but wait until the meal is over. I will then tell thee all. Where is Gyges?” he asked roguishly, looking at Psyche. “He has gone to Capua to try some horses,” Psyche replied. “Of a truth, Fortune smiles upon him,” said Gannon. “Do you speak of his wealth?” asked Psyche, shyly. “Thou dost not understand me, O my sister. I mean that he is fortunate in winning thee.” “Rather, Fortune is good to me, my brother. I am to marry a noble man.” “The gods be thanked for such a union of true and loving hearts,” said Alcmaeon. “Thy bowl is empty, my son,” interrupted Hera. “Wilt thou have more broth?” “If thou canst spare some,” said Gannon. Hera gladly refilled Gannon’s bowl. “In the past week thou hast not visited me at school,” said Alcmaeon. “Nay, father; but ’twas not because the desire was lacking. I had not the time.” “Hast thou been sent again with letters to the emperor?” inquired the father, with anxious interest. “Only once,” replied Gannon; “but I saw not the emperor. On the way I passed Nero, that most fortunate of princes. He assumes the manly habit in a few days.” “In the games and entertainments which he gives the people to celebrate that event, Psyche will dance,” proudly said the mother. “What character portrayest thou, my sister?” asked Gannon. “Niobe,” she replied. “I like thy Daphne better,” he suggested. “’Tis more pleasing, but the character of Niobe requires more art.” “Ay, but the movements are more graceful in Daphne. Niobe is too sad.” “The dance begins in lively fashion,” she insisted. “True. But I like Apollo better when he pursues a lovely maiden than when he shoots to kill,” said Gannon, still unconvinced. At this moment Hera, who had left the room, reappeared, carrying a plateful of cakes. “What, my mother! My favorite cakes too!” exclaimed the youth. “I kept them hidden so as to surprise thee,” replied the fond mother. “Thou couldst not have pleased me better, my dear mother,” exclaimed Gannon, with evident appreciation. After they had eaten the cakes, and the room was arranged for the night, Alcmaeon threw himself upon a couch. Gannon seated himself beside him, so that, upon leaning back, his head touched his father’s shoulder. Hera and Psyche sat near them, side by side. “Now, my son,” gently commanded Alcmaeon, “describe to us the palace on the Esquiline Hill.”