with
the epithet."

"Love and art."

"Indeed?" said Caracalla, with a swift glance at Melissa. Then, in an
altered voice, he added, "And revenge?"

"That," said the artist, boldly, "is a pleasure I have not yet tasted.
No one ever did me a real injury till the villain Zminis robbed my
guiltless father of his liberty; and he is not worthy to do such
mischief, as a finger of your imperial hand."

At this, Caesar looked at him suspiciously, and said in stern tones:

"But you have now the opportunity of trying the fine flavor of
vengeance. If I were timid--since the Egyptian acted only as my
instrument--I should have cause to protect myself against you."

"By no means," said the painter, with an engaging smile, "it lies in
your power to do me the greatest benefit. Do it, Caesar! It would be a
joy to me to show that, though I have been reckless beyond measure, I am
nevertheless a grateful man."

"Grateful?" repeated Caracalla, with a cruel laugh. Then he rose slowly,
and looked keenly at Alexander, exclaiming:

"I should almost like to try you."

"And I will answer for it that you will never regret it!" Melissa put
in. "Greatly as he has erred, he is worthy of your clemency."

"Is he?" said Caesar, looking down at her kindly. "What Roxana's soul
affirms by those rosy lips I can not but believe."

Then again he paused, studying Alexander with a searching eye, and
added:

"You think me strong; but you will change that opinion--which I
value--if I forgive you like a poor-spirited girl. You are in my power.
You risked your life. If I give it you, I must have a gift in return,
that I may not be cheated."

"Set my father free, and he will do whatever you may require of him,"
Melissa broke out. But Caracalla stopped her, saying: "No one makes
conditions with Caesar. Stand back, girl."

Melissa hung her head and obeyed; but she stood watching the eager
discussion between these two dissimilar men, at first with anxiety and
then with surprise.

Alexander seemed to resist Caesar's demands; but presently the despot
must have proposed something which pleased the artist, for Melissa
heard the low, musical laugh which had often cheered her in moments of
sadness. Then the conversation was more serious, and Caracalla said, so
loud that Melissa could hear him:

"Do not forget to whom you speak. If my word is not enough, you can go
back to prison." Then again she trembled for her brother; but some soft
word of his mollifi