nevertheless felt drawn."

At this Melissa raised her hands in entreaty and remonstrance, and Caesar
went on:

"I will spare you the pains. They say that I am ever athirst for fresh
bloodshed if only some one is rash enough to suggest it to me. You were
told that Caesar murdered his brother Geta, with many more who did but
speak his victim's name. My father-in-law, and his daughter Plautilla,
my wife, were, it is said, the victims of my fury. I killed Papinian,
the lawyer and prefect, and Cilo--whom you saw yesterday--nearly shared
the same fate. What did they conceal? Nothing. Your nod confesses it--
well, and why should they, since speaking ill of others is their greatest
delight? It is all true, and I should never think of denying it. But
did it ever occur to you, or did any one ever suggest to you, to inquire
how it came to pass that I perpetrated such horrors; I--who was brought
up in the fear of the gods and the law, like you and other people?"

"No, my lord, never," replied Melissa, in distress. "But I beg you, I
beseech you, say no more about such dreadful things. I know full well
that you are not wicked; that you are much better than people think."

"And for that very reason," cried Caesar, whose cheeks were flushed with
pleasure in the hard task he had set himself, "you must hear me. I am
Caesar. There is no judge over me; I need give account to none for my
actions. Nor do I. Who, besides yourself, is more to me than the flies
on that cup?"

"And your conscience?" she timidly put in.