ot be slumbering in the breast of a son
of Julius Caesar and Cleopatra?" said Archibius. "And passion--I know,
my child, that it is no fault of yours--has now awakened within him.
Whatever the result may be, it must fill his mother's heart with
anxiety. That is why it is needful to hasten your departure, and to keep
your destination a secret. He will attempt no violence; but--he is the
child of his parents--and some unexpected act may be anticipated from
him."

"You startle me!" cried Barine. "You transform the cooing dove which
entered my house into a dangerous griffin."

"As such you may regard him," said the other, warningly. "You will be
a welcome guest, Barine, but I invited you, whom I have loved from your
earliest childhood, the daughter of my dearest friend, not merely to do
you a service at Irenia, but to save from grief or even annoyance the
person to whom--who is not aware of it--I owe everything."

The words conveyed to both ladies the knowledge that, though they were
dear to Archibius, he would sacrifice them, and with them, perhaps, all
the rest of the world, for the peace and happiness of the Queen.

Barine had expected nothing else. She knew that Cleopatra had made the
philosopher's son a wealthy man and the owner of extensive estates; but
she also felt that the source of his loyal devotion to the Queen, over
whom he watched like a tender father, was due to other causes. Cleopatra
prized him also. Had he been ambitious, he could have stood at the helm
of the ship of state, as Epitrop long ago, but--the whole city knew
it--he had more than once refused to accept a permanent office, because
he believed that he could serve his mistress better as an unassuming,
unnoticed counsellor. Berenike had told Barine that the relations
between Cleopatra and Archibius dated back to their childhood, but she
had learned no particulars. Various rumours were afloat which, in the
course of time, had been richly adorned and interwoven with anecdotes,
and Barine naturally lent the most ready credence to those which
asserted that the princess, in her earliest youth, had cherished a
childish love for the philosopher's son. Now her friend's conduct led
her to believe it.

When Archibius paused, the young beauty assured him that she understood
him; and as the alabaster hanging lamp and a three-branched light cast
a brilliant glow upon the portrait which her father had painted of the
nineteen-year-old Queen, and afterwards co