CHAPTER XX.
The waiting-room was empty when Melissa crossed it for the second time.
Most of the emperor's friends had retired to rest or into the city when they had heard that Caesar slept; and the few who had remained behaved quietly when she appeared, for Philostratus had told them that the emperor held her in high esteem, as the only person who was able to give him comfort in his suffering by her peculiar and wonderful healing power.
In the tablinum, which had been converted into a sick-room, nothing was heard but the breathing and gentle snoring of the sleeping man.

Even Philostratus was asleep on an arm-chair at the back of the room.
When the philosopher had returned, Caracalla had noticed him, and dozing, or perhaps in his dreams, he had ordered him to remain by him.
So the learned man felt bound to spend the night there.
Epagathos, the freedman, was lying on a mattress from the dining-room; the corpulent physician slept soundly, and if he snored too loudly, old Adventus poked him and quietly spoke a word of warning to him.

This man, who had formerly been a post messenger, was the only person who was conscious of Melissa's entrance; but he only blinked at her through his dim eyes, and, after he had silently considered why the young girl should have returned, he turned over in order to sleep himself; for he had come to the conclusion that this young, active creature would be awake and at hand if his master required anything.
His wondering as to why Melissa had returned, had led to many guesses, and had proved fruitless.

"You can know nothing of women," was the end of his reflections, "if you do not know that what seems most improbable is what is most likely to be true.

This maid is certainly not one of the flute-players or the like.