inking of Caesar's eyelids warned him that his blood was boiling with
wrath.

"It was from the sister, whom I overheard in the temple, that I learned
of her brother's peril, and I afterward saw that portrait."

Caracalla stared at the floor for a moment in silence; then he looked up,
and said, in a tone husky with agitation:

"I only long for anything which may bring me nearer to the perverse race
over whom I rule, be it what it may. You offer it me. You are the only
man who never asked me for anything. I have believed you to be as
righteous as all other men are not. And now if you, if this time--"

He lowered his tones, which had become somewhat threatening, and went on
very earnestly: "By all you hold most sacred on earth, I ask you, Did the
girl pray for me, and of her own free impulse, not knowing that any one
could hear her?"

"I swear it, by the head of my mother!" replied Philostratus, solemnly.

"Your mother?" echoed Caesar, and his brow began to clear. But suddenly
the gleam of satisfaction, which for a moment had embellished his
features, vanished, and with a sharp laugh he added: "And my mother! Do
you suppose that I do not know what she requires of you? It is solely to
please her that you, a free man, remain with me. For her sake you are
bold enough to try now and then to quell the stormy sea of my passions.
You do it with a grace, so I submit. And now my hand is raised to strike
a wretch who mocks at me; he is a painter, of some talent, so, of course,
you take him under your protection. Then, in a moment, your inventive
genius devises a praying sister. Well, there is in that something which
might indeed mollify me. But you would betray Bassianus ten times over to
save an artist. And then, how my mother would fly to show her gratitude
to the man who could quell her furious son! Your mother!--But I only
squint when it suits me. My eye must become dimmer than it yet is before
I fail to see the connection of ideas which led you to swear by your
mother. You were thinking of mine when you spoke. To please her, you
would deceive her son. But as soon as he touches the lie it vanishes into
thin air, for it has no more substance than a soap bubble!" The last
words were at once sad, angry, and scornful; but the philosopher, who had
listened at first with astonishment and then with indignation, could no
longer contain himself.

"Enough!" he cried to the angry potentate, in an imperious tone. Then,
drawing himsel