The steward’s features had calmed down at these last words, and he answered with less excitement than before:
“I must request you to chain up your dog, or to shut it up, or in some way to keep it from mischief.”
“That is pretty strong!” cried the Emperor.
“It is only a reasonable demand, and I must stand by it,” replied Keraunus decidedly. “Neither I—nor my children’s lives are safe, so long as this wild beast is prowling about at pleasure.”
Hadrian had, ere now, erected monuments to deceased favorites, both dogs and horses, and his faithful Argus was no less dear to him, than other four-footed companions have been to other childless men; hence the queer fat man’s demand seemed to him so audacious and monstrous, that he indignantly exclaimed:
“Folly!—the dog shall be watched, but nothing farther.”
“You will chain him up,” replied Keraunus, with an angry, glare, “or someone will be found who will make him harmless forever.”
“That will be an evil attempt for the cowardly murderer!” cried Hadrian. “Eh! Argus, what do you think?”
At these words the dog drew himself up, and would have sprung at the steward’s throat if his master and Antinous had not held him back.
Keraunus felt that the dog had threatened him, but at this instant he would have let himself be torn by him without wincing, so completely was he overmastered by the fury born of his injured pride.