“By no means,” the high-priest said, with calm dignity.  “The Greek, whom I would propose, is a worthy and determined man.  Now, Zminis the Egyptian, the right hand of the man who has been turned out, is, it must be said, a wretch without ruth or conscience.”

But here the discussion was interrupted.  Melissa, whose ears had tingled as she listened, had started with horror as she heard that Zminis, the in former, was to be appointed to the command of the whole watch of the city.  If this should happen, her brothers and father were certainly lost.  This must be prevented.  As the high-priest ceased speaking, she laid her hand on Caesar’s, and, when he looked up at her in surprise, she whispered to him, so low and so quickly that hardly any one observed it “Not Zminis; he is our mortal enemy!”

Caracalla scarcely glanced at the face of the daring girl, but he saw how pale she had turned.  The delicate color in her cheeks, and the dimple he had seen while she stroked the lion had struck him as particularly fascinating.  This had helped to make her so like the Roxana on the gem, and the change in her roused his pity.  She must smile again; and so, accustomed as he was to visit his annoyance on others, he angrily exclaimed to his “Friends”: 

“Can I be everywhere at once?  Can not the simplest matter be settled without me?  It was the praetorian prefect’s business to report to me concerning the two candidates, if you could not agree; but I have not seen him since last evening.  The man who has to be sought when I need him neglects his duty!  Macrinus usually knows his.  Does any one know what has detained him?”

The question was asked in an angry, nay, in an ominous tone, but the praetorian prefect was a powerful personage, whose importance made him almost invulnerable.  Yet the praetor Lucius Priscillianus was ready with an answer.  He was the most malicious and ill-natured scandal-monger at court; and he hated the prefect, for he himself had coveted the post, which was the highest in the state next to Caesar’s.  He had always some slaves set to spy upon Macrinus, and he now said, with a contemptuous shrug: 

“It is a marvel to me that so zealous a man—­though he is already beginning to break down under his heavy duties—­should be so late.  However, he here spends his evenings and nights in special occupations, which must of course be far from beneficial to the health and peace of mind which his office demands.”

“What can those be?” asked Caracalla; but the praetor added without a pause: 

“Merciful gods!  Who would not crave to glance into the future?”

“And it is that which makes him late?” said Caesar, with more curiosity than anger.

“Hardly by broad daylight,” replied Priscillianus.  “The spirits he would fain evoke shun the light of day, it is said.  But he may be weary with late watching and painful agitations.”

“Then he calls up spirits at night?”