Melissa of her promise to serve him gladly if he required her.
Her presence, he assured Euryale, would do the sick man good, and he
guaranteed that, so long as Caesar was tormented by this unbearable pain,
the young woman had nothing to fear.

Melissa, who had risen from her seat when the philosopher had entered,
exclaimed:

"I am not afraid, and will go with you gladly--"

"Quite right, child," answered Philostratus, affectionately. Euryale,
however, found it difficult to keep back her tears while she stroked the
girl's hair and arranged the folds of her garment. When at last she said
good-by to Melissa and was embracing her, she was reminded of the
farewell she had taken, many years ago, of a Christian friend before she
was led away by the lictors to martyrdom in the circus. Finally, she
whispered something in the philosopher's ear, and received from him the
promise to return with Melissa as soon as possible.

Philostratus was, in fact, quite easy. Just before, Caracalla's helpless
glance had met his sympathizing gaze, and the suffering Caesar had said
nothing to him but:

"O Philostratus, I am in such pain!" and these words still rang in the
ears of this warm-hearted man.

While he was endeavoring to comfort the emperor, Caesar's eyes had fallen
on the gem, and he asked to see it. He gazed at it attentively for some
time, and when he returned it to the philosopher he had ordered him to
fetch the prototype of Roxana.

Closely enveloped in the veil which Euryale had placed on her head,
Melissa passed from room to room, keeping near to the philosopher.

Wherever she appeared she heard murmuring and whispering that troubled
her, and tittering followed her from several of the rooms as she left
them; even from the large hall where the emperor's friends awaited his
orders in numbers, she heard a loud laugh that frightened and annoyed
her.

She no longer felt as unconstrained as she had been that morning when she
had come before Caesar. She knew that she would have to be on her guard;
that anything, even the worst, might be expected from him. But as
Philostratus described to her, on the way, how terribly the unfortunate
man suffered, her tender heart was again drawn to him, to whom--as she
now felt--she was bound by an indefinable tie. She, if any one, as she
repeated to herself, was able to help him; and her desire to put the
truth of this conviction to the proof--for she could only regard it as
too amazing to be