"Fair?" shrieked Pollux, beside himself.
"Your wretched rubbish, which my squinting apprentice could have done as well as you, and this figure born in a moment of inspiration! Shame upon you! Once more, if you touch the Urania again I warn you, you shall learn—"
"Well, what?"
"That in Alexandria grey hairs are only respected so long as they deserve it."
Hadrian folded his arms, stepped quite close up to Pollux, and said:
"Gently, fellow, if you value your life."
Pollux stepped back before the imposing personage that stood before him,
and, as it were scales, fell from his eyes. The marble statue of the
Emperor in the Caesareum represented the sovereign in this same attitude.
The architect, Claudius Venator, was none other than Hadrian.
The young artist turned pale and said with bowed head, and in low voice as he turned to go:
"Right is always on the side of the strongest. Let me go. I am nothing but a poor artist—you are some thing very different. I know you now; you are Caesar."
"I am Caesar," snarled Hadrian, "and if you think more of yourself as an artist than of me, I will show you which of us two is the sparrow, and which the eagle."