"I inherited it, as I tell you, from my father," replied Caracalla.
"Severus sometimes wore it.--But wait. After the battle of Issos, in his
triumph over Pescennius Niger--I can see him now--he wore it on his
shoulder, and that was--"

"Two-and-twenty years ago," the philosopher put in; and Caracalla,
turning to Melissa, asked her:

"How old are you, child?"

"Eighteen, my lord." And the reply delighted Caesar; he laughed aloud,
and looked triumphantly at Philostratus.

The philosopher willingly admitted that there was something strange in
the incident, and he congratulated Caesar on having met with such strong
confirmation of his inward conviction. The soul of Alexander might now
do great things through him.

During this conversation the alarm which had come over Melissa at
Caesar's silence had entirely disappeared. The despot whose suffering
had appealed to her sympathetic soul, now struck her as singular rather
than terrible. The idea that she, the humble artist's daughter, could
harbor the soul of a Persian princess, amused her; and when the lion
lifted his head and lashed the floor with his tail at her approach, she
felt that she had won his approbation. Moved by a sudden impulse, she
laid her hand on his head and boldly stroked it. The light, warm touch
soothed the fettered prince of the desert, and, rubbing his brow against
Melissa's round arm, he muttered a low, contented growl.

At this Caesar was enchanted; it was to him a further proof of his