He spoke the words pompously, and Arsinoe eagerly acquiesced, and only begged him, as they went in at the open door, to leave enough for Selene’s costume; he laughed quietly to himself, and said:
“We need no longer be so very cautious. I should like to know who the Alexander will be who will be the first to ask for my Roxana as his wife. Rich old Plutarch’s only son already has a seat in the council, and has not yet taken a wife. He is no longer very young, but he is a fine man still.”
The radiant father’s dream of the future was interrupted by Doris, who came out of the gate-house and called him by his name. Keraunus stood still. When the old woman went on:
“I must speak with you.”
He answered, repellently: “But I shall not listen to you—neither now nor at any time.”
“It was certainly not for my pleasure,” retorted Doris, “that I called to you; I have only to tell you that you will not find your daughter Selene at home.”
“What do you say?” cried Keraunus.
“I say that the poor girl with her damaged foot could at last walk no farther, and that she had to be carried into a strange house where she is being taken care of.”
“Selene!” cried Arsinoe, falling from all her clouds of happiness, startled and grieved—“do you know where she is?”
Before Doris could reply, Keraunus stormed out: