gry, she was once more attracted to him.

As the wounds of a murdered man are said to bleed afresh when the
murderer approaches, Caracalla's irritable soul was wont to break out in
a frenzy of rage when any one was so rash as to allude to this, his
foulest crime. This reference to his brother's death had as usual stirred
his wrath, but he controlled it; for as a torrent of rain extinguishes
the fire which a lightning-flash has kindled, the homage to his strength,
in Alexander's satire, had modified his indignation. The irony which made
the artist's contemptuous words truly witty, would not have escaped
Caracalla's notice if they had applied to any one else; but he either did
not feel it, or would not remark it, for the sake of leaving Melissa in
the belief that his physical strength was really wonderful. Besides, he
thus could indulge his wish to avoid pronouncing sentence of death on
this youth; he only measured him with a severe eye, and said in
threatening tones, to repay mockery in kind and to remind the criminal of
the fate imperial clemency should spare him:

"I might be tempted to try my strength on you, but that it is worse to
try a fall with a vaporing wag, the sport of the winds, than with the son
of Caesar. And if I do not condescend to the struggle, it is because you
are too light for such an arm as this." And as he spoke he boastfully
grasped the muscles which constant practice had made thick and firm. "But
my hand reaches far. Every man-at-arms is one of its fingers, and there
are thousands of them. You have made acquaintance already, I fancy, with
those which clutched you."

"Not so," replied Alexander, with a faint smile, as he bowed humbly. "I
should not dare resist your great strength, but the watch-dogs of the law
tried in vain to track me. I gave myself up."

"Of your own accord?"

"To procure my father's release, as he had been put in prison."

"Most magnanimous!" said Caesar, ironically. "Such a deed sounds well,
but is apt to cost a man his life. You seem to have overlooked that."

"No, great Caesar; I expected to die."

"Then you are a philosopher, a contemner of life."

"Neither. I value life above all else; for, if it is taken from me, there
is an end of enjoying its best gifts."

"Best gifts!" echoed Caesar. "I should like to know which you honor with
the epithet."

"Love and art."

"Indeed?" said Caracalla, with a swift glance at Melissa. Then, in an
altered voice, he added, "An