"And shall we be allowed to see it?" asked Melissa, who had been
listening breathlessly to her brother's narrative.

The words seemed to have snatched the artist from a dream. He had to
pause and consider where he was and to whom he was speaking. He hastily
pushed the curling hair off his damp brow, and said:

"I do not understand. What is it you ask?"

"I only asked whether we should be allowed to see the portrait," she
answered timidly. "I was wrong to interrupt you. But how hot your head
is! Drink again before you go on. Had you really finished by sundown?"

Alexander shook his head, drank, and then went on more calmly: "No, no!
It is a pity you spoke. In fancy I was painting her still. There is the
moon rising already. I must make haste. I have told you all this for
Philip's sake, not for my own."

"I will not interrupt you again, I assure you," said Melissa.
"Well, well," said her brother. "There is not much that is pleasant left
to tell. Where was I?"

"Painting, so long as it was light--"

"To be sure--I remember. It began to grow dark. Then lamps were brought
in, large ones, and as many as I wished for. Just before sunset
Seleukus, Korinna's father, came in to look upon his daughter once more.
He bore his grief with dignified composure; yet by his child's bier he
found it hard to be calm. But you can imagine all that. He invited me to