This dignified matron, who was awaiting the ruler of the world and yet
could condescend to come forward to meet a humble artist's daughter, was
taller by half a head than her illustrious companion; and the few minutes
during which Berenike was coming toward her were enough to fill Melissa
with thankfulness, confidence, and admiration. And even in that short
time, as she gazed at the magnificent dress of blue brocade shot with
gold and sparkling with precious stones which draped the lady's majestic
figure, she thought how keen a pang it must cost the mother, so lately
bereft of her only child, to maintain a kindly, nay, a genial aspect, in
the midst of this display, toward Caesar and a troop of noisy guests.

The sincerest pity for this woman, rich and preeminent as she was, filled
the soul of the girl, who herself was so much to be pitied. But when the
lady had come up to her, and asked, in her deep voice, what was the
danger that threatened her brother, Melissa, with unembarrassed grace,
and although it was the first time she had ever addressed a lady of such
high degree, answered simply, with a full sense of the business in hand:

"My name is Melissa; I am the sister of Alexander the painter. I know it
is overbold to venture into your presence just now, when you have so much
else to think of; but I saw no other way of saving my brother's life,
which is in peril."

At this Berenike seemed surprised. She turned to her companion, who was
her sister's husband, and the first Egyptian who had been admitted to the
Roman Senate, and said, in a tone of gentle reproach:

"Did not I say so, Coeranus? Nothing but the most urgent need would have
brought Alexander's sister to speak with me at such an hour."