ale, and the
thick wreath he wore was scarcely sufficient to hide the bandage under
it. This was Diodoros, Melissa's lover. After resting awhile at his
friend's house he had been carried in a litter to the amphitheatre, for
he could yet hardly walk. His father being one of the senators of the
town, his family had a row of seats in the lowest and best tier; but
this, on this occasion, was entirely given up to Caesar and his court.
Consequently the different members of the senate could have only half
the usual number of seats. Still, the son of Polybius might in any
case claim two in his father's name; and his friend Timon--who had also
provided him with suitable clothing--had gone to procure the tickets
from the curia. They were to meet at the entrance leading to their
places, and it would be some little time yet before Timon could return.

Diodoros had thought he would behold his imperial rival; however,
instead of Caracalla he had seen the contemptuous reception which
awaited Alexander and Melissa, from some at least of the populace.
Still, how fair and desirable had she seemed in his eyes, whom, only
that morning, he had been blessed in calling his! As he now moved away
from the main entrance, he asked himself why it was such torture to him
to witness the humiliation of a being who had done him such a wrong, and
whom he thought he hated and scorned so utterly. Hardly an hour since he
had declared to Timon that he had rooted his love for Melissa out of his
heart. He himself would feel the better for using the whistle he wore,
in derision of her, and for seeing her faithlessness punished by the
crowd. But now? When the insolent uproar went up from the "Greens,"
whose color he himself wore, he had found it difficult to refrain from
rushing on the cowardly crew and knocking some of them down.

He now made his way with feeble steps to the entrance where he was
to meet his friend. The blood throbbed in his temples, his mouth
was parched, and, as a fruit-seller cried her wares from one of the
archways, he took a few apples from her basket to refresh himself with
their juice. His hand trembled, and the experienced old woman, observing
the bandage under his wreath, supposed him to be one of the excited
malcontents who had perhaps already fallen into the hands of the
lictors. So, with a significant grin, she pointed under the table on
which her fruit-baskets stood, and said "I have plenty of rotten ones.
Six in a wrapper, quit