If only for an hour they could be his subjects, he would make them rue the sufferings by which they spoiled his existence.
"He is called Martialis.

I will remember that name," he thought, as he cast a last envious look at the centurion.
How long Philostratus was gone! Solitude weighed on him, and he looked about him wildly, as though seeking some support.

An attendant at this moment announced the philosopher, and Caracalla, much relieved, went into the tablinum to meet him.

There he sat down on a seat in front of the writing-table strewn with tablets and papyrus-rolls, rearranged the end of the purple toga for which he had exchanged his bathing-robe, rested one foot on the lion's neck and his head on his hand.

He would receive this wonderful girl in the character of an anxious sovereign meditating on the welfare of his people..