The whole troop hastened to obey. Caracalla now turned to Melissa once
more, and his eye brightened as he again discerned the dimple in her
cheeks, which had recovered their roses. Her imploring eyes met his, and
the happy expectation of seeing her brother lent them a light which
brought joy to the friendless sovereign. During his last speech he had
looked at her from time to time; but in the presence of so many strangers
she had avoided meeting his gaze. Now she thought that she might freely
show him that his favor was a happiness to her. Her soul, as Roxana, must
of course feel drawn to his; in that he firmly believed. Her prayer and
sacrifice for him sufficiently proved it--as he told himself once more.

When Alexander was brought in, it did not anger him to see that the
brother, who held out his arms to Melissa in his habitual eager way, had
to be reminded by her of the imperial presence. Every homage was due to
this fair being, and he was, besides, much struck by Alexander's splendid
appearance. It was long since any youthful figure had so vividly reminded
him of the marble statues of the great Athenian masters. Melissa's
brother stood before him, the very embodiment of the ideal of Greek
strength and manly beauty. His mantle had been taken from him in prison,
and he wore only the short chiton, which also left bare his powerful but
softly modeled arms. He had been allowed no time to arrange and anoint
his hair, and the light-brown curls were tossed in disorderly abundance
about his shapely head. This favorite of the gods appeared in Caesar's
eyes as an Olympic victor, who had come to claim the wreath with all the
traces of the struggle upon him.

No sign of fear, either of Caesar or his lion, marred this impression.
His bow, as he approached the potentate, was neither abject nor awkward,
and Caesar felt bitter wrath at the thought that this splendid youth, of
all men, should have selected him as the butt of his irony. He would have
regarded it as a peculiar gift of fortune if this man--such a brother of
such a sister--could but love him, and, with the eye of an artist,
discern in the despot the great qualities which, in spite of his many
crimes, he believed he could detect in himself. And he hoped, with an
admixture of anxiety such as he had never known before, that the
painter's demeanor would be such as should allow him to show mercy.

When Alexander besought him with a trustful mien to consider his youth,
an