s to discover
what had suggested to Philostratus the story that when Achilles begged
Calliope to endow him with the gifts of music and poetry she had given
him so much of both as he required to enliven the feast and banish
sadness. He was also said to be a poet, and devoted himself most
ardently to verse when resting from the toils of war.

To hear that man unjustly blamed on whom her heart is set, only
increases a woman's love; but unmerited praise makes her criticise him
more sharply, and is apt to transform a fond smile into a scornful one.
Thus the picture that raised Caracalla to the level of an Achilles made
Melissa shrug her shoulders over the man she dreaded; and while she even
doubted Caesar's musical capacities, Diodoros's young, fresh, bell-like
voice rose doubly beautiful and true upon her memory's ear. The image of
her lover finally drove out that of the emperor, and, while she seemed
to hear the wedding song which the youths and maidens were so soon to
sing for them both, she fell asleep.

It was late when Johanna came to admonish her to retire to rest. Shortly
before sunrise she was awakened by Berenike, who wished to take some
rest, and who told her, before seeking her couch, that Apollinaris was
doing well. The lady was still sleeping when Johanna came to inform
Melissa that the slave Argutis was waiting to see her.

The Christian undertook to convey the maiden's farewell greetings to her
mistress.

As they entered the living-room, the gardener had just brought in fresh
flowers, among them three rose-bushes covered with full-blown flowers
and half-opened, dewy buds. Melissa asked Johanna timidly if the lady
Berenike would permit her to pluck one--there were so many; to which the
Christian replied that it would depend on the use it was to be put to.

"Only for the sick tribune," answered Melissa, reddening. So Johanna
plucked two of the fairest blooms and gave them to the maiden--one for
the man who had injured her and one for her betrothed. Melissa kissed
her, gratefully, and begged her to present the flowers to the sick man
in her name.

Johanna carried out her wish at once; but the wounded man, gazing
mournfully at the rose, murmured to himself: "Poor, lovely, gentle
child! She will be ruined or dead before Caracalla leaves Alexandria!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

The slave Argutis was waiting for Melissa in the antechamber. It was
evident that he brought good news, for he beamed with joy as she cam