He roughly snatched her hand away from her face and thereby achieved his end, for her indignation at being thus touched by a man’s brutal hand gave Melissa strength to suppress her sobs.  Only her wet cheeks showed what a flood of tears she had shed, as, almost beside herself with anger, she exclaimed: 

“Let my hand go!  Shame on the man who insults a defenseless girl!  You swear!  Then I, too, may take an oath, and, by the head of my mother, you shall never see me again excepting as a corpse, if you ever attempt violence!  You are Caesar—­you are the stronger.  Who ever doubted it?  But you will never compel me to a vile action, not if you could inflict a thousand deaths on me instead of one!”

Caracalla, without a word, had released her hand and was staring at her in amazement.

A woman, and so gentle a woman, defying him as no man would have dared to do!

She stood before him, her hand raised, her bosom heaving; a flame of anger sparkled in her eyes through their tears, and he had never before thought her so fair.  What majesty there was in this girl, whose simple grace had made him more than once address her as “child”!  She was like a queen, an empress; perhaps she might become one.  The idea struck him for the first time.  And that little hand which now fell—­what soothing power it had, how much he owed to it!  How fervently he had wished but just now to be understood by her, and to be thought better of by her than by the rest!  And this wish still possessed him.  Nay, he was more strongly attracted than ever to this creature, worthy as she was of the highest in the land, and made doubly bewitching by her proud willfulness.  That he should see her for the last time seemed to him as impossible as that he should never again see daylight; and yet her whole aspect announced that her threat was serious.

His aggrieved pride and offended sense of absolute power struggled with his love, repentance, and fear of losing her healing presence; but the struggle was brief, especially as a mass of business to be attended to lay before him like a steep hill to climb, and haste was imperative.

He went up to her, shaking his head, and said in the superior tone of a sage rebuking thoughtlessness: 

“Like all the rest of them—­I repeat it.  My demands had no object in view but to make you happy and derive comfort from you.  How hot must the blood be which boils and foams at the contact of a spark!  Only too like my own; and, since I understand you, I find it easy to forgive you.  Indeed, I must finally express myself grateful; for I was in danger of neglecting my duties as a sovereign for the sake of pleasing my heart.  Go, then, and rest, while I devote myself to business.”

At this, Melissa forced herself to smile, and said, still somewhat tearfully:  “How grateful I am!  And you will not again require me to remain, will you, when I assure you that it is not fitting?”