Yes, indeed!  Caracalla, too, fell mercilessly upon his prey!  Had she not seen him hewing down Apollinaris a few hours ago?

Furthermore, Achilles was said to have declared that he could drive away care by fearlessly encountering the greatest dangers for the sake of his friends.  But where were Caracalla’s friends?

At best, the allusion could only refer to the Roman state, for whose sake the emperor certainly did endure many a hardship and many a wearisome task, and he was not the only person who had told her so.

Then she turned back a little and found the words:  “But because he was easily inclined to anger, Chiron instructed him in music; for is it not inherent in this art to soothe violence and wrath—­And Achilles acquired without trouble the laws of harmony and sang to the lyre.”

This all corresponded with the truth, and tomorrow she was to discover what had suggested to Philostratus the story that when Achilles begged Calliope to endow him with the gifts of music and poetry she had given him so much of both as he required to enliven the feast and banish sadness.  He was also said to be a poet, and devoted himself most ardently to verse when resting from the toils of war.

To hear that man unjustly blamed on whom her heart is set, only increases a woman’s love; but unmerited praise makes her criticise him more sharply, and is apt to transform a fond smile into a scornful one.  Thus the picture that raised Caracalla to the level of an Achilles made Melissa shrug her shoulders over the man she dreaded; and while she even doubted Caesar’s musical capacities, Diodoros’s young, fresh, bell-like voice rose doubly beautiful and true upon her memory’s ear.  The image of her lover finally drove out that of the emperor, and, while she seemed to hear the wedding song which the youths and maidens were so soon to sing for them both, she fell asleep.

It was late when Johanna came to admonish her to retire to rest.  Shortly before sunrise she was awakened by Berenike, who wished to take some rest, and who told her, before seeking her couch, that Apollinaris was doing well.  The lady was still sleeping when Johanna came to inform Melissa that the slave Argutis was waiting to see her.

The Christian undertook to convey the maiden’s farewell greetings to her mistress.

As they entered the living-room, the gardener had just brought in fresh flowers, among them three rose-bushes covered with full-blown flowers and half-opened, dewy buds.  Melissa asked Johanna timidly if the lady Berenike would permit her to pluck one—­there were so many; to which the Christian replied that it would depend on the use it was to be put to.

“Only for the sick tribune,” answered Melissa, reddening.  So Johanna plucked two of the fairest blooms and gave them to the maiden—­one for the man who had injured her and one for her betrothed.  Melissa kissed her, gratefully, and begged her to present the flowers to the sick man in her name.