Philostratus went on to announce her arrival, and she, while waiting, tried to pray to the manes of her mother; but, before she could sufficiently collect her thoughts, the door opened.  Philostratus silently beckoned to her, and she stepped into the tablinum, which was but dimly lighted by a few lamps.

Caracalla was still resting here; for every movement increased the pain that tormented him.

How quiet it was!  She thought she could hear her own heart beating.

Philostratus remained standing by the door, but she went on tiptoe toward the couch, fearing her light footsteps might disturb the emperor.  Yet before she had reached the divan she stopped still, and then she heard the plaintive rattle in the sufferer’s throat, and from the background of the room the easy breathing of the burly physician and of old Adventus, both of whom had fallen asleep; and then a peculiar tapping.  The lion beat the floor with his tail with pleasure at recognizing her.

This noise attracted the invalid’s attention, and when he opened his closed eyes and saw Melissa, who was anxiously watching all his movements, he called to her lightly with his hand on his brow: 

“The animal has a good memory, and greets you in my name.  You were sure to come—­, I knew it!”

The young girl stepped nearer to him, and answered, kindly, “Since you needed me, I gladly followed Philostratus.”

“Because I needed you?” asked the emperor.

“Yes,” she replied, “because you require nursing.”

“Then, to keep you, I shall wish to be ill often,” he answered, quickly; but he added, sadly, “only not so dreadfully ill as I have been to-day.”

One could hear how laborious talking was to him, and the few words he had sought and found, in order to say something kind to Melissa, had so hurt his shattered nerves and head that he sank back, gasping, on the cushions.

Then for some time all was quiet, until Caracalla took his hand from his forehead and continued, as if in excuse: 

“No one seems to know what it is.  And if I talk ever so softly, every word vibrates through my brain.”

“Then you must not speak,” interrupted Melissa, eagerly.  “If you want anything, only make signs.  I shall understand you without words, and the quieter it is here the better.”

“No, no; you must speak,” begged the invalid.  “When the others talk, they make the beating in my head ten times worse, and excite me; but I like to hear your voice.”

“The beating?” interrupted Melissa, in whom this word awoke old memories.  “Perhaps you feel as if a hammer was hitting you over the left eye?

“If you move rapidly, does it not pierce your skull, and do you not feel as sick as if you were on the rocking sea?”

“Then you also know this torment?” asked Caracalla, surprised; but she answered, quietly, that her mother had suffered several times from similar headaches, and had described them to her.