t."

--Potter's translation.

And this was the end of the revolting scene, for, as he spoke, Caesar
pushed away his cup and sat staring into vacancy, so pale that his
physician, foreseeing a fresh attack, brought out his medicine vial.

The praetorian prefect gave a signal to the rest that they should not
notice the change in their imperial host, and he did his best to keep
the conversation going, till Caracalla, after a long pause, wiped his
brow and exclaimed hoarsely: "What has become of the Egyptian? He was
to bring in the living prisoners--the living, I say! Let him bring me
them."

He struck the table by his couch violently with his fist; and then, as
if the clatter of the metal vessels on it had brought him to himself,
he added, meditatively: "A hundred thousand! If they burned their dead
here, it would take a forest to reduce them to ashes."

"This day will cost him dear enough as it is," the high-priest of
Alexander whispered; he, as idiologos, having to deposit the tribute
from the temples and their estates in the imperial treasury. He
addressed his neighbor, old Julius Paulinus, who replied:

"Charon is doing the best business to-day. A hundred thousand obolus
in a few hours. If Tarautas reigns over us much longer, I will farm his
ferry!"

During this whispered dialogue Theocritus the favorite was assuring
Caesar in a loud voice that the possessions of the victims would suffice
for any form of interment, and an ample number of thank-offerings into
the bargain.

"An offering!" echoed Caracalla, and he pointed to a short sword which
lay beside him on the couch. "That helped in the work. My father wielded
it in many a fight, and I have not let it rust. Still, I doubt whether
in my hands and his together it ever before yesterday slaughtered a
hundred thousand."

He looked round for the high-priest of Serapis, and after seeking him in
vain among the guests, he exclaimed:

"The revered Timotheus withdraws his countenance from us to-day. Yet it
was to his god that I dedicated the work of vengeance. He laments the
loss of worshipers to great Serapis, as you, Vertinus"--and he turned to
the idiologos--"regret the slain tax-payers. Well, you are thinking of
my loss or gain, and that I can not but praise. Your colleague in the
service of Serapis has nothing to care for but the honor of his god; but
he does not succeed in rising to the occasion. Poor wretch! I will
give him a lesson. Here