As the little procession entered the gallery, in which the rolls of
manuscript lay in stone or wooden cases on long rows of shelves, the
shout was heard of "Hail, Caesar!" mingling with a solemn chant, and
announcing the sovereign's approach.

At this the physician pointed to the court-yard, and said to the girl,
whose beauty had greatly attracted him: "Look down there if you want to
see Caesar. We must wait here, at any rate, till the crowd has gone past
in the corridor beyond that door." And Melissa, whose feminine curiosity
had already tempted her to the window, looked down into the quadrangle
and on to the steps down which a maniple of the praetorian guard were
marching, with noble Romans in togas or the uniform of legates, augurs
wearing wreaths, and priests of various orders. Then for a few minutes
the steps were deserted, and Melissa thought she could hear her own heart
beating, when suddenly the cry: "Hail, Caesar!" was again heard, loud
trumpets rang out and echoed from the high stone walls which surrounded
the inclosure, and Caracalla appeared on the broad marble steps which led
down into the court of sacrifice.

Melissa's eyes were riveted as if spell-bound on this figure, which was
neither handsome nor dignified, and which nevertheless had a strange
attraction for her, she knew not why. What was it in this man, who was
short rather than tall, and feeble rather than majestic, which so
imperatively forbade all confident advances? The noble lion which walked
by his side, and in whose mane his left hand was buried, was not more
unapproachable than he. He called this terrible creature, which he
treated with as much familiarity as if it were a lapdog, his "Persian
sword"; and as Melissa looked she remembered what fate might be in store
for her brother through this man, and all the crimes of which he was