xander's way, and the lictors came to their
assistance.

A young man in festal array, who had pushed into the front rank of the
bystanders, had looked on with panting breath. He was very pale, and the
thick wreath he wore was scarcely sufficient to hide the bandage under
it. This was Diodoros, Melissa's lover. After resting awhile at his
friend's house he had been carried in a litter to the amphitheatre, for
he could yet hardly walk. His father being one of the senators of the
town, his family had a row of seats in the lowest and best tier; but
this, on this occasion, was entirely given up to Caesar and his court.
Consequently the different members of the senate could have only half the
usual number of seats. Still, the son of Polybius might in any case claim
two in his father's name; and his friend Timon--who had also provided him
with suitable clothing--had gone to procure the tickets from the curia.
They were to meet at the entrance leading to their places, and it would
be some little time yet before Timon could return.

Diodoros had thought he would behold his imperial rival; however, instead
of Caracalla he had seen the contemptuous reception which awaited
Alexander and Melissa, from some at least of the populace. Still, how
fair and desirable had she seemed in his eyes, whom, only that morning,
he had been blessed in calling his! As he now moved away from the main
entrance, he asked himself why it was such torture to him to witness the
humiliation of a being who had done him such a wrong, and whom he thought
he hated and scorned so utterly. Hardly an hour since he had declared to
Timon that he had rooted his love for Melissa out of his heart. He
himself would feel the better for using the whistle he wore, in derision
of her, and for seeing her faithlessness punished by the crowd. But now?
When the insolent uproar went up from the "Greens," whose color he
himself wore, he had found it difficult to refrain from rushing on the
cowardly crew and knocking some of them down.

He now made his way with feeble steps to the entrance where he was to
meet his friend. The blood throbbed in his temples, his mouth was
parched, and, as a fruit-seller cried her wares from one of the archways,
he took a few apples from her basket to refresh himself with their juice.
His hand trembled, and the experienced old woman, observing the bandage
under his wreath, supposed him to be one of the excited malcontents who
had perhaps already fa