The lady, however, did not heed the caution which her brother-in-law intended to convey.  As Melissa’s imploring eyes met her own, she said, with clear decision: 

“Wait here.  We shall see who it is that Caesar sends.  I know better than my lord here what it is to see those dear to us in peril.  How old are you, child?”

“Eighteen,” replied Melissa.

“Eighteen?” repeated Berenike, as if the word were a pain to her, for her daughter had been just of that age.  Then she said, louder and with encouraging kindness: 

“All that lies in my power shall be done for you and yours.—­And you, Coeranus, must help me.”

“If I can,” he replied, “with all the zeal of my reverence for you and my admiration for beauty.  But here come the envoys.  The elder, I see, is our learned Philostratus, whose works are known to you; the younger is Theocritus, the favorite of fortune of whom I was telling you.  If the charm of that face might but conquer the omnipotent youth—­”

“Coeranus!” she exclaimed, with stern reproof; but she failed to hear the senator’s excuses, for her husband, Seleukus, followed her down the steps, and with a hasty sign to her, advanced to meet his guests.

Theocritus was spokesman, and notwithstanding the mourning toga which wrapped him in fine folds, his gestures did not belie his origin as an actor and dancer.  When Seleukus presented him to his wife, Theocritus assured her that when, but an hour since, his sovereign lord, who was already dressed and wreathed for the banquet, had learned that the gods had bereft of their only child the couple whose hospitality had promised him such a delightful evening, he had been equally shocked and grieved.  Caesar was deeply distressed at the unfortunate circumstance that he should have happened in his ignorance to intrude on the seclusion which was the prerogative of grief.  He begged to assure her and her husband of the high favor of the ruler of the world.  As for himself, Theocritus, he would not fail to describe the splendor with which they had decorated their princely residence in Caesar’s honor.  His imperial master would be touched, indeed, to hear that even the bereaved mother, who, like Niobe, mourned for her offspring, had broken the stony spell which held her to Sipylos, and had decked herself to receive the greatest of all earthly guests as radiant as Juno at the golden table of the gods.

The lady succeeded in controlling herself and listening to the end of these pompous phrases without interrupting the speaker.  Every word which flowed so glibly from his tongue fell on her ear as bitter mockery; and he himself was so repugnant to her, that she felt it a release when, after exchanging a few words with the master of the house, he begged leave to retire, as important business called him away.  And this, indeed, was the truth.  For no consideration would he have left this duty to another, for it was to communicate to Titianus, who had offended him, the intelligence that Caesar had deprived him of the office of prefect, and intended to examine into certain complaints of his administration.