“You are a handsome race—­the men powerful, the women as lovely as Aphrodite.  That is as it should be!  My father before me took the wisest and fairest woman to wife.  You are the fairest—­the wisest?—­well, that too, perhaps.  Time will show.  But Aphrodite never has a high forehead, and, according to Philostratus, beauty and wisdom are hostile sisters with you women.”

“Exceptions,” interposed the philosopher, as he pointed to Melissa, “prove the rule.”

“Describe her in that manner to my mother,” said Caracalla.  “I would not let you go from me, were you not the only person who knows Melissa.  I may trust in your eloquence to represent her as she deserves.  And now,” he continued, hurriedly, “one thing more.  As soon as the deputation is dismissed and I have received a few other persons, the feast is to begin.  You would perhaps be entertained at it.  However, it will be better to introduce you to my ‘friends’ after the marriage ceremony.  After dark, to make up for it, there is the Circus, to which you will, of course, accompany me.”

“Oh, my lord!” exclaimed the maiden, frightened and unwilling.  But Caracalla cried, decisively:  “No refusal, I must beg!  I imagine that I have proved sufficiently that I know how to shield you from what is not fitting for a maiden.  What I ask of you now is but the first step on the new path of honor that awaits you as future empress.”

Melissa raised both voice and hands in entreaty, but in vain.  Caracalla cut her short, saying in authoritative tones: 

“I have arranged everything.  You will go to the Circus.  Not alone with me-that would give welcome work to scandalous tongues.  Your father shall accompany you—­your brothers, too, if you wish it.  I shall not join you till after the performance has begun.  Your fellow-citizens will divine the meaning of this visit.  Besides, Theocritus and the rest have orders to acquaint the people with the distinction that awaits you and the Alexandrians.  But why so pale?  Your cheeks will regain their color in the Circus.  I know I am right—­you will leave it delighted and enthralled.  You have only to learn for the first time how the acclamations of tens of thousands take hold upon the heart and intoxicate the senses.  Courage, courage, Macedonian maiden!  Everything grand and unexpected, even unforeseen happiness, is alarming and bewildering.  But we become accustomed even to the impossible.  A strong spirit like yours soon gets over anything of the kind.  But the time is running on.  One word more:  You must be in the Circus by sunset.  In any case, you must be in your place before I come.  Adventus will see that you have a chariot or a litter, whichever you please.  Theocritus will be waiting at the entrance to lead you to your seats.”

Melissa could restrain herself no longer, and, carried away by the wild conflict of passions in her breast, she threw control and prudence to the winds, and cried: