ion; for when he met the old sculptor Lysander, who only yesterday
had so kindly told him and Melissa about Caesar's mother, as he nodded
from the chariot his greeting was not returned; and the honest artist
had waved his hand with a gesture which no Alexandrian could fail to
understand as meaning, "I no longer know you, and do not wish to be
recognized by you."

He had from his childhood loved Diodoros as a brother, and in one of the
side streets, down which the chariot had turned to avoid the tumult in
the Kanopic way, Alexander had seen his old friend. He had desired the
charioteer to stop, and had leaped out on the road to speak to Diodoros
and give him at once Melissa's message; but the young man had turned
his back with evident displeasure, and to the painter's pathetic appeal,
"But, at any rate, hear me!" he answered, sharply: "The less I hear of
you and yours the better for me. Go on--go on, in Caesar's chariot!"

With this he had turned away and knocked at the door of an architect who
was known to them both; and Alexander, tortured with painful feelings,
had gone on, and for the first time the idea had taken possession of him
that he had indeed descended to the part of spy when he had betrayed to
Caesar what Alexandrian wit had to say about him. He could, of course,
tell himself that he would rather have faced death or imprisonment than
have betrayed to Caracalla the name of one of the gibers; still, he
had to admit to himself that, but for the hope of saving his father and
brother from death and imprisonment, he would hardly have done Caesar
such service. The mercy shown to them was certainly too like payment,
and his own part in the matter struck him as hateful and base. His
fellow-townsmen had a right to bear him a grudge, and his friends to
keep out of his way. A feeling came over him of bitter self-contempt,
hitherto strange to him; and he understood for the first time how Philip
could regard life as a burden and call it a malicious Danaus-gift of the
gods. When, finally, in the Kanopic way, close in front of Seleukus's
house, a youth unknown to him cried, scornfully, as the chariot was
slowly making its way through the throng, "The brother-in-law of
Tarautas!" he had great difficulty in restraining himself from leaping
down and letting the rascal feel the weight of his fists. He knew, too,
that Tarautas was the name of a hateful and bloodthirsty gladiator which
had been given as a nickname to Caesar in Ro