He signed to Epagathos to retire, but Melissa went nearer to Caesar and begged him gently not to let the worthy citizens wait any longer on her account.

At this Caracalla frowned ominously, and cried:  “For the second time, let me ask you not to interfere in matters that do not concern you!  If any one dares to order me—­” Here he stopped short, for, as Melissa drew back from him frightened, he was conscious of having betrayed that even love was not strong enough to make him control himself.  He was angry with himself, and with a great effort he went on, more quietly: 

“When I give an order, my child, there often lies much behind it of which I alone know.  Those who force themselves upon Caesar, as these citizens do, must learn to have patience.  And you—­if you would fill the position to which I intend to raise you—­must first take care to leave all paltry considerations and doubts behind you.  However, all that will come of itself.  Softness and mercy melt on the throne like ice before the sun.  You will soon learn to scorn this tribe of beggars who come whining round us.  If I flew in a passion just now, it was partly your fault.  I had a right to expect that you would be more eager to hear me out than to shorten the time of waiting for these miserable merchants.”

With this his voice grew rough again, but as she raised her eyes to him and cried beseechingly, “O, my lord!” he continued, more gently: 

“There was not much more to be said.  You shall be mine.  Should the stars confirm their first revelations, I shall raise you to-morrow to my side, here in the city of Alexandria, and make the people do homage to you as their empress.  The priest of Alexandria is ready to conduct the marriage ceremonial.  Philostratus will inform my mother of my determination.”

Melissa had listened to these arrangements with growing distress; her breath came fast, and she was incapable of uttering a word; but Caesar was delighted at the lovely confusion painted on her features, and cried, in joyful excitement: 

“How I have looked forward to this moment—­and I have succeeded in surprising her!  This is what makes imperial power divine; by one wave of the hand it can raise the lowest to the highest place!”

With this he drew Melissa toward him, kissed the trembling girl upon the brow, and continued, in delighted tones: 

“Time does not stand still, and only a few hours separate us from the accomplishment of our desires.  Let us lend them wings.  We resolved yesterday to show one another what we could do as singers and lute-players.  There lies my lyre—­give it me, Philostratus.  I know what I shall begin with.”

The philosopher brought and tuned the instrument; but Melissa had some difficulty in keeping back her tears.  Caracalla’s kiss burned like a brand of infamy on her brow.  A nameless, torturing restlessness had come over her, and she wished she could dash the lyre to the ground, when Caracalla began to play, and called out to Philostratus: