Alexander swore to be her faithful ally; Euryale once more assured her of her assistance; and yet, more especially when she was moved with pity for her father, who was to leave all he loved for her sake, she felt as if she were being driven hither and thither, in some frail bark, at the mercy of the waves.

Suddenly a new idea flashed through her mind.  She rose quickly.

“I will go to Diodoros,” she cried, “and tell him all!  He shall decide.”

“Just now?” asked Euryale, startled.  “You would certainly not find your betrothed alone, and since all the world knows of Caracalla’s intentions, and gazes curiously after you, your visit would instantly be reported to Caesar.  Nor is it advisable for you to present yourself before your offended lover, when you have neither Andreas nor any one else to speak for you and take your part.”

Melissa burst into tears, but the matron drew her to her and continued tenderly: 

“You must give that up—­but, Alexander, do you go to your friend, and be your sister’s mouthpiece!”

The artist consented with all the ardor of brotherly affection, and having received from Melissa, whose courage began to rise again, strict injunctions as to what he was to say to her lover, he departed on his errand.

Wholly absorbed by the stormy emotions of her heart, the maiden had forgotten time and every external consideration; but the lady Euryale was thoughtful for her, and now led her to her chamber to have her hair dressed for the Circus.  The matron carefully avoided, for the present, all mention of her young friend’s flight, though her mind was constantly occupied with it—­and not in vain.

The skillful waiting-woman, whom she had bought from the house of the priest of Alexander, who was a Roman knight, loosened the girl’s abundant brown hair, and, with loud cries of admiration, declared it would be easy to dress such locks in the most approved style of fashion.  She then laid the curling-irons on the dish of coals which stood on a slender tripod, and was about to twist it into ringlets; but Melissa, who had never resorted to such arts, refused to permit it.  The slave assured her, however, as earnestly as if it were a matter of the highest importance, that it was impossible to arrange the curls of a lady of distinction without the irons.  Euryale, too, begged Melissa to allow it, as nothing would make her so conspicuous in her overdressed surroundings as excessive simplicity.  That was quite true, but it made the girl realize so vividly what was before her, that she covered her face with her hands and sobbed out: 

“To be exposed to the gaze of the whole city—­to its envy and its scorn!”

The matron’s warning inquiry, what had become of her favorite’s high-minded calm, and her advice to restrain her weeping, lest she should appear before the public in the Amphitheater with tear-stained eyes, helped her to compose herself.