"A portrait of a girl."
"Probably of the complaisant model who ventures into Lochias at night?"
"No; a lady of rank will sit to me."
"An Alexandrian?"
"Oh, no. A beauty in the train of the Empress."
"What is her name? I know all the Roman ladies."
"Balbilla."
"Balbilla? There are many of that name. What is she like, the lady you mean?" asked Hadrian, with a cunning glance of amusement.
"That is easier to ask than to answer," replied the artist, who, seeing his gray-bearded companion smile, recovered his gay vivacity, "But stay—you have seen a peacock spread its tail—now only imagine that every eye in the train of Hera's bird was a graceful round curl, and that in the middle of the circle there was a charming, intelligent girl's face, with a merry little nose, and a rather too high forehead, and you will have the portrait of the young damsel who has graciously permitted me to model from her person."
Hadrian laughed heartily, threw off his cloak, and exclaimed: