Paulina had never yet taken her with her to of the Christian assemblies in her suburban villa; wished first to prepare her and to open her soul to salvation. In this task no teacher of the congregation should assist her. She, and she alone, should win to the Redeemer the soul of this fair creature that had walked so resolutely in the ways of the heathen; this was required of her as the condition of the covenant that she felt she had made with Him, it was with the price of this labor that she hoped to purchase her own child’s eternal happiness. Day after day she had Arsinoe into her own room, that was decked with flowers and with Christian symbols, and devoted several hours to her instruction. But her disciple proved less impressionable and less attentive every day; while Paulina was speaking Arsinoe was thinking of Pollux, of the children, of the festival prepared for the Emperor or of the beautiful dress she was to have worn as Roxana. She wondered what young girl would fill her place, and how she could ever hope to see her lover again. And it was the same during Paulina’s prayers as during her instruction, prayers that often lasted more than hour, and which she had to attend, on her knees on Wednesday and Friday, and with hands uplifted on all the other days of the week. When her adoptive mother had discovered how often she looked out into the street she thought she had found out the reason of her pupil’s distracted attention and only waited the return of her brother, the architect, in order to have the window blocked up. As Pontius entered the lofty hall of his sister’s house, Arsinoe came to meet him. Her cheeks were flushed, she had hurried to fly down as fast as possible from her window to the ground floor, in order to speak to the architect before he went into the inner rooms or had talked with his sister, and she looked lovelier than ever. Pontius gazed at her with delight. He knew that he had seen this sweet face before, but he could not at once remember where; for a face we have met with only incidentally is not easily recognized when we find it again where we do not expect it. Arsinoe did not give him time to speak to her, for she went straight up to him, greeted him, and asked timidly: “You do not remember who I am?” “Yes, yes,” said the architect, “and yet--for the moment--” “I am the daughter of Keraunus, the palace-steward at Lochias, but you know of course!” “To be sure, to be sure! Arsinoe is your name; I was asking to-day after your father and heard to my great regret--” “He is dead.” “Poor child! How everything has changed in the old palace since I went away. The gate-house is swept away, there is a new steward and there-but, tell me how came you here?” “My father left us nothing and Christians took its in. There were eight of us.” “And my sister shelters you all?”