lousy has a thousand eyes," interrupted
Dion, "yet I seek nothing from Barine, save two pleasant hours when the
day is drawing towards its close. No matter; Iras, I suppose, heard that
I was favoured by this much-admired woman. Iras herself has some
little regard for me, so she bought Philostratus. She is willing to pay
something for the sake of injuring the woman who stands between us,
or the old man who has the good or evil fortune of being her rival's
grandfather. No, no; that would be too base! And believe me, if Iras
desired to ruin Barine, she need not make so long a circuit. Besides,
she is not really a wicked woman. Or is she? All I know is that where
any advantage is to be gained for the Queen, she does not shrink even
from doubtful means, and also that the hours speed swiftly for any one
in her society. Yes, Iras, Iras--I like to utter the name. Yet I do not
love her, and she--loves only herself, and--a thing few can say--another
still more. What is the world, what am I to her, compared with the
Queen, the idol of her heart? Since Cleopatra's departure, Iras seems
like the forsaken Ariadne, or a young roe which has strayed from its
mother. But stop; she may have a hand in the game: the Queen trusted
her as if she were her sister, her daughter. No one knows what she
and Charmian are to her. They are called waiting-women, but are their
sovereign's dearest friends. When, on the departure of the fleet,
Cleopatra was compelled to leave Iras here--she was ill with a
fever--she gave her the charge of her children, even those whose beards
were beginning to grow, the 'King of kings' Caesarion, whose tutor
punishes him for every act of disobedience; and the unruly lad Antyllus,
who has forced his way the last few evenings into our friend's house."

"Antony, his own father, introduced him to her."

"Very true, and Antyllus took Caesarion there. This vexed Iras, like
everything which may disturb the Queen. Barine is troublesome on account
of Cleopatra, whom she wishes to spare every annoyance, and perhaps she
dislikes her a little for my sake. Now she wants to inflict on the
old man, Barine's grandfather, whom she loves, some injury which the
spoiled, imprudent woman will scarcely accept quietly, and which will
rouse her to commit some folly that can be used against her. Iras will
hardly seek her life, but she may have in mind exile or something of
that kind. She knows people as well as I know her, my neighbour and
playm