“It spoke for some other Bassianus, Antoninus, Tarautus, or whatever they choose to call me,” Caesar broke in.

“Nay, my lord, not so.  She prayed for you, the son of Severus.  I spoke to her afterwards.  She had seen you yesterday morning, and fancied she had noted how great and severe your sufferings were.  This had gone to her heart.  So she went thither to pray and sacrifice for you, although she knew that you were prosecuting her brother, the very painter of whom I spoke.  I would you too could have heard how fervently she addressed the god, and then Hygeia!”

“A Greek, you say?” Caracalla remarked.  “And she really did not know you, or dream that you could hear her?”

“No, my lord; assuredly not.  She is a sweet maid, and if you would care to see her—­”

Caesar had listened to the tale with great attention and evident expectancy; but suddenly his face clouded, and, heedless of the slaves who, under the guidance of his chamberlain Adventus, had now brought in the portrait, he sprang up, went close to Philostratus, and stormed out: 

“Woe to you if you lie to me!  You want to get the brother out of prison, and then, by chance, you come across the sister who is praying for me!  A fable to cheat a child with!”

“I am speaking the truth,” replied Philostratus, coolly, though the rapid winking of Caesar’s eyelids warned him that his blood was boiling with wrath.

“It was from the sister, whom I overheard in the temple, that I learned of her brother’s peril, and I afterward saw that portrait.”

Caracalla stared at the floor for a moment in silence; then he looked up, and said, in a tone husky with agitation: 

“I only long for anything which may bring me nearer to the perverse race over whom I rule, be it what it may.  You offer it me.  You are the only man who never asked me for anything.  I have believed you to be as righteous as all other men are not.  And now if you, if this time—­”

He lowered his tones, which had become somewhat threatening, and went on very earnestly:  “By all you hold most sacred on earth, I ask you, Did the girl pray for me, and of her own free impulse, not knowing that any one could hear her?”

“I swear it, by the head of my mother!” replied Philostratus, solemnly.

“Your mother?” echoed Caesar, and his brow began to clear.  But suddenly the gleam of satisfaction, which for a moment had embellished his features, vanished, and with a sharp laugh he added:  “And my mother!  Do you suppose that I do not know what she requires of you?  It is solely to please her that you, a free man, remain with me.  For her sake you are bold enough to try now and then to quell the stormy sea of my passions.  You do it with a grace, so I submit.  And now my hand is raised to strike a wretch who mocks at me; he is a painter, of some talent, so, of course, you take him under your protection.  Then, in