“The man cannot say a word! you are choking him,” he cried in the pirate’s ear.

Demetrius relaxed his mighty grip.  Pratinas, for so we still call him, leaned back against one of the soldiers, panting and gasping.  Drusus took his assailant by the arm, and led him back to a seat.  Caesar sat waiting until the prisoner could speak.

“Pratinas,” said the Imperator, sternly, “as you hope for an easy death or a hard one, tell this man the truth about his daughter.”

Pratinas drew himself together by a mighty effort.  For an instant he was the former easy, elegant, versatile Hellene.  When he answered it was with the ring of triumph and defiance.

“Imperator, it would be easy to tell a lie, for there is no means of proof at hand.  This man,” with a derisive glance at his enemy, “says that I know something about his daughter.  Doubtless, though, since he has pursued for recent years so noble an avocation, it were more grateful if he thanked me for caring for the deserted girl.  Well, I kept her until she was sufficiently old, and then—­for I was at the time quite poor—­disposed of her to a dealer at Antioch, who was planning to take a slave caravan to Seleucia.  My good friend probably will find his daughter in some Parthian harem, unless—­”

Cornelia had arisen and was whispering to Drusus; the latter turned and held the raging pirate in his seat.  Pratinas had made of every word a venomed arrow, and each and all struck home.  The workings of Demetrius’s face were frightful, the beads of agony stood on his brows,—­doubtless he had always feared nothing less,—­the certainty was awful.  Cornelia looked upon him half-anxious, yet serene and smiling.  Drusus, too, seemed composed and expectant.  The Imperator gazed straight before him, his eyes searching the prisoner through and through, and under the glance the Greek again showed signs of fear and nervousness.

The curtain at the opposite end of the hall rustled, Cornelia rose and walked to the doorway, and returned, leading Artemisia by the hand.  The girl was dressed in a pure white chiton; her thick hair was bound back with a white fillet, but in the midst of its mass shone a single golden crescent studded with little gems.  She came with shy steps and downcast eyes—­abashed before so many strangers; and, as she came, all gazed at her in admiration, not as upon the bright beauty of a rose, but the perfect sweetness of a modest lily.  Cornelia led her on, until they stood before the prisoner.

“Artemisia,” said Cornelia, in a low voice, “have you ever seen this man before?”

Artemisia raised her eyes, and, as they lit on Pratinas, there was in them a gleam of wonder, then of fear, and she shrank back in dread, so that Cornelia threw her arm about her to comfort her.

“A!  A!” and the girl began to cry.  “Has he found me?  Will he take me?  Pity! mercy!  Pratinas!”

But no one had paid her any more attention.  It was Caesar who had sprung from his seat.