true, great
Caesar, that in a weak moment and without considering the results, I
repeated some of those witticisms to you--"

"I commanded, and you had to obey," retorted Caesar, and added, coldly,
"But what does this mean?"

"It means," began Alexander--who already saw the sword of execution leap
from its scabbard--with pathetic dignity, which astonished the emperor
as coming from him, "it means that I herewith declare before you, and
my Alexandrian fellow-citizens here present, that I bitterly repent
my indiscretion; nay, I curse it, since I heard from your own lips how
their ready wit has set you against the sons of my beloved native city."

"Ah, indeed! Hence these tears?" interposed Caesar, adopting a
well-known Latin phrase. He nodded to the painter, and continued, in a
tone of amused superiority: "Go on performing as an orator, if you like;
only moderate the tragic tone, which does not become you, and make
it short, for before the sun rises we all--these worthy citizens and
myself--desire to be in bed."

Blushes and pallor alternated on the young man's face. Sentence of death
would have been more welcome to him than this supercilious check to a
hazardous attempt, which he had looked upon as daring and heroic. Among
the Romans he caught sight of some laughing faces, and hurt, humiliated,
confused, scarcely capable of speaking a word, and yet moved by the
desire to justify himself, he stammered out: "I have--I meant to
assure--No, I am no spy! May my tongue wither before I--You can, of
course--It is in your power to take my life!"

"Most certainly it is," interposed Caracalla, and his tone was more
contemptuous than angry. He could see how deeply excited the artist
was, and to save him--Melissa's brother-from committing a folly which he
would be obliged to punish, he went on with gracious consideration: "But
I much prefer to see you live and wield the brush for a long time to
come. You are dismissed."

The young man bent his head, and then turned his back upon the emperor,
for he felt that he was threatened now with what, to an Alexandrian, was
the most unbearable fate-to appear ridiculous before so many.

Caracalla allowed him to go, but, as he stepped across the threshold,
he called after him: "Tomorrow, then, with your sister, after the bath!
Tell her the stars and the spirits are propitious to our union."

Caesar then beckoned to the chief of the nightwatch, and, having
laid the blame of the unpleasan