At this moment Theokritus came leaping down the stairs, crying out to her:  “The lion—­a physician—­where shall I find a leech?”

The matron pointed to the old man, who was one of the medical students of the sanctuary, and the favorite shouted out to him, “Come up!” and then rushed on, paying no heed to Euryale’s inquiry for Melissa; but the old man laughed scornfully and shouted after him, “I am no beast-healer.”

Then, turning to the lady, he added: 

“I am sorry for the lion.  You know me, lady.  I could never till yesterday bear to see a fly hurt.  But this brute!  It was as a son to that bloodhound, and he shall feel for once something to grieve him.  The lion has had his portion.  No physician in the world can bring him to life again.”

He bent his head and returned to his laboratory; but the matron understood that this kind, peaceable man, in spite of his white hair, had become a poisoner, and that the splendid, guiltless beast owed its death to him.  She shuddered.  Wherever this unblest man went, good turned to evil; terror, suffering, and death took the place of peace, happiness, and life.  He had forced her even into the sin of disobedience to her husband and master.  But now her secret hiding of Melissa against his will would be avenged.  He and she alike would probably pay for the deed with their life; for the murder of his lion would inevitably rouse Caesar’s wildest passions.

Still, she knew that Caracalla respected her; for her sake, perhaps, he would spare her husband.  But Melissa?  What would her fate be if she were dragged out of her hiding-place?—­and she must be discovered!  He had threatened to cast her to the beasts; and ought she not to prefer even that fearful fate to forgiveness and a fresh outburst of Caesar’s passion?

Pale and tearless, but shaken with alarms, she bent over the balustrade of the stairs and murmured a prayer commending herself, her husband, and Melissa to God.  Then she hastened up the steps.  The great doors leading to the chambers of mystery stood wide open, and the first person she met was her husband.

“You here?” said he in an undertone.  “You may thank the gods that your kind heart did not betray you into hiding the girl here.  I trembled for her and for ourselves.  But there is not a sign of her; neither here nor on the secret stair.  What a morning—­and what a day must follow!  There lies Caesar’s lion.  If his suspicion that it has been poisoned should be proved true, woe to this luckless city, woe to us all!”

And Caesar’s aspect justified the worst anticipations.  He had thrown himself on the floor by the side of his dead favorite, hiding his face in the lion’s noble mane, with strange, quavering wailing.  Then he raised the brute’s heavy head and kissed his dead eyes, and as it slipped from his hand and fell on the floor, he started to his feet, shaking his fist, and exclaiming: