“Eulaeus,” he said, “has been forced to leave us on business, and our royal brother is still sitting over his books with Aristarchus, who came with him from Alexandria; but he promised certainly to come.”

“The fewer we are,” replied Lysias, bowing low, “the more honorable is the distinction of belonging to so limited a number of your majesty’s most select associates.”

“I certainly think we have chosen the best from among the good,” said the queen.  “But even the small number of friends I had invited must have seemed too large to my brother Euergetes, for he—­who is accustomed to command in other folks’ houses as he does in his own—­forbid the chamberlain to invite our learned friends—­among whom Agatharchides, my brothers’ and my own most worthy tutor, is known to you—­as well as our Jewish friends who were present yesterday at our table, and whom I had set down on my list.  I am very well satisfied however, for I like the number of the Muses; and perhaps he desired to do you, Publius, particular honor, since we are assembled here in the Roman fashion.  It is in your honor, and not in his, that we have no music this evening; you said that you did not particularly like it at a banquet.  Euergetes himself plays the harp admirably.  However, it is well that he is late in coming as usual, for the day after tomorrow is his birthday, and he is to spend it here with us and not in Alexandria; the priestly delegates assembled in the Bruchion are to come from thence to Memphis to wish him joy, and we must endeavor to get up some brilliant festival.  You have no love for Eulaeus, Publius, but he is extremely skilled in such matters, and I hope he will presently return to give us his advice.”

“For the morning we will have a grand procession,” cried the king.  “Euergetes delights in a splendid spectacle, and I should be glad to show him how much pleasure his visit has given us.”

The king’s fine features wore a most winning expression as he spoke these words with heart-felt warmth, but his consort said thoughtfully:  “Aye! if only we were in Alexandria—­but here, among all the Egyptian people—­”

CHAPTER IX.

A loud laugh re-echoing from the marble walls of the state-room interrupted the queen’s speech; at first she started, but then smiled with pleasure as she recognized her brother Euergetes, who, pushing aside the chamberlains, approached the company with an elderly Greek, who walked by his side.

“By all the dwellers on Olympus!  By the whole rabble of gods and beasts that live in the temples by the Nile!” cried the new-comer, again laughing so heartily that not only his fat cheeks but his whole immensely stout young frame swayed and shook.  “By your pretty little feet, Cleopatra, which could so easily be hidden, and yet are always to be seen—­by all your gentle virtues, Philometor, I believe you are trying to outdo the great Philadelphus