Egypt -- History -- 30 B.C.-640 A.D. -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English; Hadrian, Emperor of Rome, 76-138 -- Fiction
The dress-maker was enchanted with her, proud and delighted, and could
not resist the impulse to give a kiss to the charming girl’s white,
beautifully round throat.
“If only Pollux could see me so!” thought Arsinoe. “After the
performance perhaps I might show myself in my dress to Selene, and then
she would forgive my taking part in the show. It is really a pleasure to
look so nice!”
The children all stood round her while she was being dressed, and
shouted with admiration each time some new detail of the princess’s
attire was added. Helios begged to be allowed to feel her dress, and
after satisfying herself that his little hands were clean she stroked
them over the glistening white silk.
She had now advanced so far that her father and the tailor could be
called in. She felt remarkably content and happy. Drawn up to her
tallest, like a real king’s daughter, and yet with a heart beating as
anxiously as that of any girl would who is on the point of displaying
her beauty--hitherto protected and hidden in her parents’ home--to
the thousand eyes of the gaping multitude, she went towards the
sitting-room; but she drew back her hand she had put forth to raise the
latch, for she heard the voices of several men who must just now have
joined her father.
“Wait a little while, there are visitors,” she cried to the seamstress
who had followed her, and she put her ear to the door to listen. At
first she could not make out anything that was going on, but the end
of the strange conversation that was being carried on within was so
hideously intelligible that she could never forget it so long as she
lived.
Her father had ordered two new dresses for her, beating down the price
with the promise of prompt payment, when Mastor came into the
steward’s room and informed Keraunus that his master and Gabinius, the
curiosity-dealer from Nicaea, wished to speak with him.
“Your master,” said Keraunus haughtily, “may come in; I think that he
regrets the injury he has done me; but Gabinius shall never cross this
threshold again, for he is a scoundrel.”
“It would be as well that you should desire that man to leave you for
the present,” said the slave, pointing to the tailor.
“Whoever comes to visit me,” said the steward loftily, “must be
satisfied to meet any one whom I permit to enter my house.”
“Nay, nay,” said the slave urgently, “my master is a greater man than
you think. Beg this man to leave the room.”
“I know, I know very well,” said Keraunus with a smile. “Your master
is an acquaintance of Caesar’s. But we shall see, after the performance
that is about to take place, which of us two Caesar will decide for.
This tailor has business here and will stay at my pleasure. Sit in the
corner there, my friend.”
“A tailor!” cried Mastor, horrified. “I tell you he must go.”
“He must!” asked Keraunus wrathfully. “A slave dares to give orders in
my house? We will see.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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