se. But Philostratus, the only man who understood him, was out of
reach; he had sent him to his mother. And for what purpose? To tell her
that he, Caesar, had found a wife after his own heart, and to win her
favor and consent. At this thought the blood surged up in him with rage
and shame. Even before they were wed his chosen bride had been false to
him; she had fled from his embraces, as he now knew, to death, never to
return.

He would gladly have sent a galley in pursuit to bring Philostratus back
again; but the vessel in which the philosopher had embarked was one of
the swiftest in the imperial fleet, and it had already so long a start
that to overtake it would be almost impossible. So within a few days
Philostratus would meet his mother; he, if any one, could describe
Melissa's beauty in the most glowing colors, and that he would do so to
the empress, his great friend, was beyond a doubt. But the haughty
Julia would scarcely be inclined to accept the gem-cutter's child for a
daughter; indeed, she did not wish that he should ever marry again.

But what was he to her? Her heart was given to the infant son of
her niece Mammaea;--[The third Caesar after Caracalla, Alexander
Severus]--in him she discovered every gift and virtue. What joy there
would be among the women of Julia's train when it was known that
Caesar's chosen bride had disdained him, and, in him, the very purple.
But that joy would not be of long duration, for the news of the
punishment by death of a hundred thousand Alexandrians would, he knew,
fall like a lash on the women. He fancied he could hear their howls and
wailing, and see the horror of Philostratus, and how he would join the
women in bemoaning the horrible deed! He, the philosopher, would perhaps
be really grieved; aye, and if he had been at his side this morning
everything might perhaps have been different. But the deed was done, and
now he must take the consequences.

That the better sort would avoid him after such an act was
self-evident--they had already refused to eat with him. On the other
hand, it had brought nearer to him the favorites whom he had attracted
to his person. Theocritus and Pandion, Antigonus and Epagathos, the
priest of Alexander, who at Rome was overwhelmed with debt, and who in
Egypt had become a rich man again, would cling to him more closely.

"Base wretches!" he muttered to himself.

If only Philostratus would come back to him! But he scarcely dared
hope it. The e