his
blood, he cried, in a tone of superiority:

"So that is the boasted logic of the Museum? Death is your dearest
desire, and yet you would give it to your enemy?"

"Quite right," replied Philip, his lip curling with scorn. "For there is
something which to the philosopher stands higher than logic. It is a
stranger to you, but you know it perhaps by name--it is called justice."

These words, and the contemptuous tone in which they were spoken, burst
the flood-gates of Caracalla's painfully restrained passion; his voice
rose harsh and loud, till the lion growled angrily and dragged at his
chain, while his master flung hasty words of fury in the face of his
enemy:

"We shall soon see, my cunning fencer with words, whether I know how to
follow your advice, and how sternly I can exercise that virtue denied to
me by an assassin. Will any one accuse me now of injustice if I punish
the accursed brood that has grown up in this den of iniquity with all the
rigor that it deserves? Yes, glare at me with those great, burning eyes!
Alexandrian eyes, promising all and granting nothing--persuading him who
trusts in them to believe in innocence and chastity, truth and affection.
But let him look closer, and he finds nothing but deep corruption, foul
cunning, despicable self-seeking, and atrocious faithlessness!

"And everything else in this city is like those eyes! Where are there so
many gods and priests, where do they sacrifice so often, where do they
fast and apply themselves so assiduously to repentance and the cleansing
of the soul? And yet, where does vice display itself so freely and so
unchecked? This Alexandria--in her youth as dissolute as she was
fair--what is she now but an old hag? Now that she is toothless, now that
wrinkles disfigure her face, she has turned pious, that, like the wolf in
sheep's clothing, she may revenge herself by malice for the loss of joy
and of the admiration of her lovers! I can find no more striking
comparison than this; for, even as hags find a hideous pleasure in empty
chatter and spiteful slanderings, so she, once so beautiful and renowned,
has sunk deeper and deeper in the mire, and can not endure to see
anything that has achieved greatness or glory without maliciously
bespattering it with poison.

"Justice!--yes, I will exercise justice, oh, sublime and virtuous hero,
going forth to murder--a dagger hidden in your bosom! I thank you for
that lesson!

"Pride of the Museum!--you lead me