CHAPTER XXV.

Melissa had wept her fill on the breast of the lady Euryale, who listened
to her woes with motherly sympathy, and yet she felt as if a biting frost
had broken and destroyed the blossoms which only yesterday had so richly
and hopefully decked her young heart. Diodoros's love had been to her
like the fair and sunny summer days that turn the sour, hard fruit into
sweet and juicy grapes. And now the frost had nipped them. The whole
future, and everything round her, now looked gray, colorless, and flat.
Only two thoughts held possession of her mind: on the one hand, that of
her betrothed, from whom this visit to the Circus threatened to separate
her forever; and on the other, that of her imperial lover, to escape
whom she would have flown anywhere, even to the grave.

Euryale remarked with concern how weary and broken Melissa looked--so
different from her usual bright self, while she listened to her father
and Alexander as they consulted with the lady as to the future.
Philostratus, who had promised his advice, did not appear; and to the
gem-cutter, no proposal could seem so unwelcome as that of leaving his
native city and his sick favorite, Philip.

He considered it senseless, and a result of the thoroughly wrong-headed
views of sentimental women, to reject the monarch of the world when he
made honorable proposals to an unpretending girl. But the lady Euryale
--of whom his late wife had always spoken with the highest respect--and,
supported by her, his son Alexander, had both represented to him so