d the Alexandrian manners which he had inherited both from his parents
and his grandparents, if indeed his tongue had wagged too boldly in
speaking of the all-powerful Caesar, and to remember the fable of the
lion and the mouse, the scowl he had put on to impress the youth with his
awfulness and power vanished from Caesar's brow. The idea that this great
artist, whose sharp eye could so surely distinguish the hideous from the
beautiful, should regard him as ill-favored, was odious to him. He had
listened to him in silence; but suddenly he inquired of Alexander whether
it was indeed he, whom he had never injured, who had written the horrible
epigram nailed with the rope to the door of the Serapeum and when the
painter emphatically denied it, Caesar breathed as though a burden had
fallen from his soul. He nevertheless insisted on hearing from the
youth's own lips what it was that he had actually dared to say. After
some hesitation, during which Melissa besought Caesar in vain to spare
her and her brother this confession, Alexander exclaimed:

"Then the hunted creature must walk into the net, and, unless your
clemency interferes, on to death! What I said referred partly to the
wonderful strength that you, my lord, have so often displayed in the
field and in the circus; and also to another thing, which I myself now
truly repent of having alluded to. It is said that my lord killed his
brother."

"That--ah! that was it!" said Caesar, and his face, involuntarily this
time, grew dark.

"Yes, my lord," Alexander went on, breathing hard. "To deny it would be
to add a second crime to the former one, and I am one of those who would
rather jump into cold water both feet at once, when it has to be done.
All the world knows what your strength is; and I said that it was greater
than that of Father Zeus; for that he had cast his son Hephaestos only on
the earth, and your strong fist had cast your brother through the earth
into the depths of Hades. That was all. I have not added nor concealed
anything."

Melissa had listened in terror to this bold confession. Papinian, the
brave praetorian prefect, one of the most learned lawyers of his time,
had incurred Caracalla's fury by refusing to say that the murder of Geta
was not without excuse; and his noble answer, that it was easier to
commit fratricide than to defend it, cost him his life.

So long as Caesar had been kind to her, Melissa had felt repelled by him;
but now, when he was an