A flash of enthusiasm sparkled in Melissa’s eye, but Galenus did not heed it; he briefly bade her farewell and turned away to devote himself to other patients.

“There is one, at any rate,” thought she, as she looked after the physician, “who will pray and sacrifice for that unhappy man.  Diodoros will not forbid it, I am sure.”

She turned to Andreas and desired him to take her to her lover.  Diodoros was now really sleeping, and did not feel the kiss she breathed on his fore head.  He had all her love; the suffering criminal she only pitied.

When they had quitted the temple she pressed her hand to her bosom and drew a deep breath as if she had just been freed from prison.

“My head is quite confused,” she said, “by the heavy perfume and so much anxiety and alarm; but O Andreas, my heart never beat with such joy and gratitude!  Now I must collect my thoughts, and get home to do what is needful for Philip.  And merciful gods! that good-natured old Roman, Samonicus, will soon be expecting me at the Temple of Aphrodite; see how high the sun is already.  Let us walk faster, for, to keep him waiting—­”

Andreas here interrupted her, saying, “If I am not greatly mistaken, there is the Roman, in that open chariot, coming down the incline.”

He was right; a few minutes later the chariot drew up close to Melissa, and she managed to tell Samonicus all that had happened in so courteous and graceful a manner that, far from being offended, he could wish every success to the cure his great friend had begun.  And indeed his promise had somewhat weighed upon his mind, for to carry out two undertakings in one day was too much, at his age, and he had to be present in the evening at a banquet to which Caesar had invited himself in the house of Seleukus the merchant.”

“The high-priest’s brother?” asked Melissa, in surprise, for death had but just bereft that house of the only daughter.

“The same,” said the Roman, gayly.  Then he gave her his hand, with the assurance that the thought of her would make it a pleasure to remember Alexandria.

As she clasped his hand, Andreas came up, bowed gravely, and asked whether it would be overbold in him, as a faithful retainer of the maiden’s family, to crave a favor, in her name, of Caesar’s illustrious and familiar friend.

The Roman eyed Andreas keenly, and the manly dignity, nay, the defiant self-possession of the freedman—­the very embodiment of all he had expected to find in a genuine Alexandrian—­so far won his confidence that he bade him speak without fear.  He hoped to hear something sufficiently characteristic of the manners of the provincial capital to make an anecdote for Caesar’s table.  Then, when he understood that the matter concerned Melissa’s brother, and a distinguished artist, he smiled expectantly.  Even when he learned that Alexander was being hunted down for some heedless jest against the emperor, he only threatened Melissa sportively with his finger; but on being told that this jest dealt with the murder of Geta, he seemed startled, and the tone of his voice betrayed serious displeasure as he replied to the petitioner, “Do you suppose that I have three heads, like the Cerberus at the feet of your god, that you ask me to lay one on the block for the smile of a pretty girl?”