ce than a soap
bubble!" The last words were at once sad, angry, and scornful; but the
philosopher, who had listened at first with astonishment and then with
indignation, could no longer contain himself.

"Enough!" he cried to the angry potentate, in an imperious tone. Then,
drawing himself up, he went on with offended dignity:

"I know what the end has been of so many who have aroused your wrath,
and yet I have courage enough to tell you to your face, that to
injustice, the outcome of distrust, you add the most senseless insult.
Or do you really think that a just man--for so you have called me more
than once--would outrage the manes of the beloved woman who bore him to
please the mother of another man, even though she be Caesar's? What I
swear to by the head of my mother, friend and foe alike must believe;
and he who does not, must hold me to be the vilest wretch on earth;
my presence can only be an offense to him. So I beg you to allow me to
return to Rome."

The words were manly and spoken firmly, and they pleased Caracalla; for
the joy of believing in the philosopher's statement outweighed every
other feeling. And since he regarded Philostratus as the incarnation
of goodness--though he had lost faith in that--his threat of leaving
disturbed him greatly. He laid his hand on his brave adviser's arm, and
assured him that he was only too happy to believe a thing so incredible.

Any witness of the scene would have supposed this ruthless fatricide,
this tyrant--whose intercourse with the visions of a crazed and
unbridled fancy made him capable of any folly, and who loved to assume
the aspect of a cruel misanthrope--to be a docile disciple, who cared
for nothing but to recover the favor and forgiveness of his master. And
Philostratus, knowing this man, and the human heart, did not make it too
easy for him to achieve his end. When he at last gave up his purpose of
returning to Rome, and had more fully explained to Caesar how and where
he had met Melissa, and what he had heard about her brother the painter,
he lifted the wrapper from Korinna's portrait, placed it in a good
light, and pointed out to Caracalla the particular beauties of the
purely Greek features.

It was with sincere enthusiasm that he expatiated on the skill with
which the artist had reproduced in color the noble lines which Caracalla
so much admired in the sculpture of the great Greek masters; how warm
and tender the flesh was; how radiant the light of t