Caesar’s countenance presently cleared a little. He raised his head, and as his eye met Melissa’s she pronounced in a low, sweet voice the pleasant Greek greeting, “Rejoice!”
At this moment the philosopher was seized with a panic of anxiety; he felt for the first time the weight of responsibility he had taken on himself. Never had he thought her so lovely, so enchantingly bewitching as now, when she looked up at Caracalla in sweet confusion and timidity, but wholly possessed by her desire to win the favor of the man who, with a word, could make her so happy or so wretched. If this slave of his passions, whom a mere whim perhaps had moved to insist on the strictest morality in his court, should take a fancy to this delightful young creature, she was doomed to ruin. He turned pale, and his heart throbbed painfully as he watched the development of the catastrophe for which he had himself prepared the way.
But, once more, the unexpected upset the philosopher’s anticipations. Caracalla gazed at the girl in amazement, utterly discomposed, as though some miracle had happened, or a ghost had started from the ground before him. Springing up, while he clutched the back of his chair, he exclaimed:
“What is this? Do my senses deceive me, or is it some base trickery? No, no! My eyes and my memory are good. This girl--”
“What ails thee, Caesar?” Philostratus broke in, with increasing anxiety.
“Something--something which will silence your foolish doubts--” Caesar panted out. “Patience--wait. Only a minute, and you shall see.--But, first”--and he turned to Melissa--“what is your name, girl?”
“Melissa,” she replied, in a low and tremulous voice.
“Heron is my father’s name, and my mother--she is dead--was called Olympias, the daughter of Philip.”
“Yes, my lord. My father and mother both were of pure Macedonian descent.”
The emperor glanced triumphantly at Philostratus, and briefly exclaiming, “That will do, I think,” he clapped his hands, and instantly his old chamberlain, Adventus, hurried in from the adjoining room, followed by the whole band of “Caesar’s friends.” Caracalla, however, only said to them:
“You can wait till I call you.--You, Adventus! I want the gem with the marriage of Alexander.” The freedman took the gem out of an ebony casket standing on Caesar’s writing-table, and Caracalla, holding the philosopher by the arm, said, with excited emphasis: