There was a great stir in this, the handsomest road through the city.  The people were waiting for Caesar; but stricter order was observed than on the occasion of his arrival.  The guard prohibited all traffic on the southern side of the way, and only allowed the citizens to walk up and down the footpath, shaded by trees, between the two roadways paved with granite flags, and the arcades in front of the houses on either side.  The free inhabitants, unaccustomed to such restrictions, revenged themselves by cutting witticisms at Caesar’s expense, “for clearing the streets of Alexandria by his men-at-arms as he did those of Rome by the executioner.  He seemed to have forgotten, as he kept the two roads open, that he only needed one, now that he had murdered his brother and partner.”

Melissa and her companion were ordered to join the crowd on the footway; but Argutis managed to convince a man on guard that they were two of the mimes who were to perform before Caesar—­the door-keeper at the house of Seleukus would confirm the fact—­and the official himself made way for them into the vestibule of this splendid dwelling.

But Melissa was as little in the humor to admire all the lavish magnificence which surrounded her as Alexander had been a few days since.  Still veiled, she modestly took a place among the choir who stood on each side of the hall ready to welcome Caesar with singing and music.  Argutis stopped to speak with his friend.  She dimly felt that the whispering and giggling all about her was at her expense; and when an elderly, man, the choir-master, asked her what she wanted, and desired her to remove her veil, she obeyed at once, saying:  “Pray let me stand here, the Lady Berenike will send for me.”

“Very well,” replied the musician; and he silenced the singers, who were hazarding various impertinent guesses as to the arrival of so pretty a girl just when Caesar was expected.

As Melissa dropped her veil the splendor of the scene, lighted up by numberless tapers and lamps, forced itself on her attention.  She now perceived that the porphyry columns of the great hall were wreathed with flowers, and that garlands swung in graceful curves from the open roof; while at the farther end, statues had been placed of Septimus Severus and Julia Domna, Caracalla’s parents.  On each side of these works of art stood bowers of plants, in which gay-plumaged birds were fluttering about, excited by the lights.  But all these glories swam before her eyes, and the first question which the artist’s daughter was wont to ask herself, “is it really beautiful or no?” never occurred to her mind.  She did not even notice the smell of incense, until some fresh powder was thrown on, and it became oppressive.

She was fully conscious only of two facts, when at last Argutis returned:  that she was the object of much curious examination and that every one was wondering what detained Caesar so long.

At last, after she had waited many long minutes, the door-keeper approached her with a young woman in a rich but simple dress, in whom she recognized Johanna, the Christian waiting-maid of whom Alexander had spoken.  She did not speak, but beckoned her to come.