Hadrian stepped cautiously forward, his face wearing meanwhile a satisfied smile.

The verdict passed by the simple shrewd woman of the people had given him far greater pleasure than the turgid verse in which Mesomedes and his compeers were wont to sing his praises, or the flattering speeches with which he was loaded by the sophists and rhetoricians.
The old woman had taken him for no more than an artist; she could not know who he was, and yet she had recognized--or had Titianus been indiscreet?
Did she know or suspect whom she was talking to?
Hadrian's deeply suspicious nature was more and more roused; he began to fancy that the gate-keeper's wife had learnt her speech by heart, and that her welcome had been preconcerted; he suddenly paused and desired the prefect to wait for him, and Antinous to remain behind with the clog.

He turned round, retraced his steps to the gatehouse and slipped close up to it in a very unprincely way.

He stood still by the door of the little house which was still open, and listened to the conversation between Doris and her husband.
"A fine tall man," said Euphorion, "he is a little like the Emperor." "Not a bit," replied Doris.

"Only think of the full-length statue of Hadrian in the garden of the Paneum; it has a dissatisfied satirical expression, and the architect has a grave brow, it is true, but pure friendly kindness lights up his features.