“I know him,” replied Melissa, “and I look for nothing but the worst.”

At this the elder woman warmly grasped the girl’s hand, but she was interrupted by the waiting woman Johanna, who said that a Roman officer of rank, a tribune, craved to be admitted.

When Berenike refused to receive him, the maid assured her that he was a young man, and had expressed his wish to bring an urgent request to the lady’s notice in a becoming and modest manner.

On this the matron allowed him to be shown in to her, and Melissa hastily obeyed her instructions to withdraw into the adjoining room.

Only a half-drawn curtain divided it from the room where Berenike received the soldier, and without listening she could hear the loud voice which riveted her attention as soon as she had recognized it.

The young tribune, in a tone of courteous entreaty, begged his hostess to provide a room for his brother, who was severely wounded.  The sufferer was in a high fever, and the physician said that the noise and rattle of vehicles in the street, on which the room where he now lay looked out, and the perpetual coming and going of the men, might endanger his life.  He had just been told that on the side of the women’s apartments there was a row of rooms looking out on the impluvium, and he ventured to entreat her to spare one of them for the injured man.  If she had a brother or a child, she would forgive the boldness of his request.

So far she listened in silence; then she suddenly raised her head and measured the petitioner’s tall figure with a lurid fire in her eye.  Then she replied, while she looked into his handsome young face with a half-scornful, half-indignant air:  “Oh, yes!  I know what it is to see one we love suffer.  I had an only child; she was the joy of my heart.  Death—­ death snatched her from me, and a few days later the sovereign whom you serve commanded us to prepare a feast for him.  It seemed to him something new and delightful to hold a revel in a house of mourning.  At the last moment—­all the guests were assembled—­he sent us word that he himself did not intend to appear.  But his friends laughed and reveled wildly enough!  They enjoyed themselves, and no doubt praised our cook and our wine.  And now—­another honor we can duly appreciate!—­he sends his praetorians to turn this house of mourning into a tavern, a wine-shop, where they call creatures in from the street to dance and sing.  The rank to which you have risen while yet so young shows that you are of good family, so you can imagine how highly we esteem the honor of seeing your men trampling, destroying, and burning in their camp-fires everything which years of labor and care had produced to make our little garden a thing of beauty.  Only look down on them!  Macrinus, who commands you, promised me, moreover, that the women’s apartments should be respected.  No praetorian, whether common soldier or commander,’ and here she raised her voice, “shall set foot within them!  Here is his writing.  The prefect set the seal beneath it in Caesar’s name.”