The old man had only interrupted her tale with a few sly questions as to her love-affair and her religion; for when she had told him that Diodoros was under the care of Christians, it had occurred to him that this simply but not poorly dressed girl, with her modest ways and sweet, calm face, might herself be a Christian.  He was almost surprised when she denied it, and yet he seemed pleased, and promised to grant her request.  It was not fitting that a girl so young should enter any house where Caesar and his train took up their abode; he would wait for her, “there”—­and he pointed to a small, round temple to Aphrodite, on the left-hand side of the street of Hermes, where the road was rather wider—­for the coach had meanwhile slowly moved on.

Next day, at three hours after the rising of the fierce African sun—­for he could not bear its meridian heat—­he would go thither in his litter.  “And be sure you are there in good time!” he added, shaking his finger at her.

“If you come an hour too soon, you will find me waiting!” she cried.

He laughed, and said, “What pretty maid, indeed, would dare to be late for an appointment under the very eyes of the goddess of Love!” He bade her a friendly farewell, and lay back in the chariot.

Melissa, radiant with happiness, looked about her for the place where she had left her companion.  However, in spite of the lictors, Andreas had followed her; he drew her hand under his arm, and led her through the now-thinning crowd into a sidelane which led to the lake, opening out of the colonnaded street opposite the little temple.

Melissa’s steps were winged.  Her joy at having gained her end so quickly and so easily was uppermost in her mind, and as they threaded their way among the people she tried to tell Andreas what the great physician had promised.  But the noise drowned her speech, for at this moment Caesar’s tame lion, named the “Sword of Persia” was being led through the street by some Numidian slaves.

Every one was looking at the splendid beast; and, as she too turned to gaze, her eye met the ardent glance of a tall, bearded man standing at the window of a house just behind the round temple to Aphrodite.  She at once recognized Serapion, the Magian, and whispered his name to Andreas; he, however, without looking round, only drew her along more quickly, and did not breathe easily till they found themselves in the narrow, deserted alley.

The Magian had observed her while she stood by the Roman’s chariot, and his conversation with a Syrian of middle age in his company had been of her.  His companion’s appearance was as insignificant as his own was stately and commanding.  Nothing distinguished the Syrian from a thousand of his fellows but the cunning stamped on his sharply-cut features; still, the great Magian seemed to hold him in some esteem, for he readily replied to the little man’s questions and remarks.