"It is shameful, it is base. Give me my wraps Claudia. I will not stay an instant longer to be the butt of this man's coarse and spiteful jesting."
"It is unworthy," cried the matron, "so to insult a person of your position. It is to be hoped our litters are waiting outside."
Pontius had overheard Balbilla's last words. He had come into the work-place without Pollux, who was still speaking to the prefect, and he said gravely as he approached Balbilla:
"You have every reason to be angry, noble lady. This thing is an insult in clay, malicious, and at the same time coarse in every detail; but it was not Pollux who did it, and it is not right to condemn without a trial."
"You take your friend's part!" exclaimed Balbilla. "I would not tell a lie for my own brother."
"You know how to give your words the aspect of an honorable meaning in serious matters, as he does in jest."
"You are angry and unaccustomed to bridle your tongue," replied the architect. "Pollux, I repeat it, did not perpetrate the caricature, but a sculptor from Rome."
"Which of them? I know them all."
"I may not name him."
"There—you see.—Come away Claudia."