Was Helena's image, which now floated before him so bewitchingly, destined to fade as swiftly?
The contrary would have been remarkable.

Yet he firmly believed that this time Eros meant honestly by him.

The laughing loves who twined their rose garlands around him and Helena's predecessors had nothing to do with this grave maiden.
These reflections darted through his brain with the speed of lightning, and still stirred his heart when he was ushered into the impluvium, where the magistrates were impatiently awaiting the owner of the house.
With the lucidity peculiar to him, he explained his reasons for hoping that their errand would be vain, and Apollonius replied that no one would rejoice more than he himself if the Regent should authorize him, on the morrow, to countermand his mission.

He would gladly wait there longer to afford the old man's granddaughter an opportunity to soften the tidings of the impending misfortune.
The kind-hearted man's patience, however, was not tested too long; for when Helena entered the summer-house Didymus had already been informed of the disaster which threatened him and his family.

The philosopher Euphranor, an elderly member of the Museum, had reached him through the garden gate, and, spite of Philotas's warning sign, told him what was occurring.