“And Hebe?” asked Cleopatra.

“She casts down her eyes, but lifts up the arm on which the hand of Peitho rests with a warning movement of her fingers, in which she holds an unopened rose, as though she would say; ’Ah! let me be—­I tremble at the man’—­or ask:  ’Would it not be better that I should remain as I am and not yield to your temptations and to Aphrodite’s power?’ Oh!  Hebe is exquisite, and you, O Queen! must represent her!”

“I!” exclaimed Cleopatra.  “But you said her eyes were cast down.”

“That is from modesty and timidity, and her gait must also be bashful and maidenly.  Her long robe falls to her feet in simple folds, while Peitho holds hers up saucily, between her forefinger and thumb, as if stealthily dancing with triumph over her recent victory.  Indeed the figure of Peitho would become you admirably.”

“I think I will represent Peitho,” said the queen interrupting the Corinthian.  “Hebe is but a bud, an unopened blossom, while I am a mother, and I flatter myself I am something of a philosopher—­”

“And can with justice assure yourself,” interrupted Aristarchus, “that with every charm of youth you also possess the characters attributed to Peitho, the goddess, who can work her spells not only on the heart but on the intellect also.  The maiden bud is as sweet to look upon as the rose, but he who loves not merely color but perfume too—­I mean refreshment, emotion and edification of spirit—­must turn to the full-blown flower; as the rose—­growers of lake Moeris twine only the buds of their favorite flower into wreaths and bunches, but cannot use them for extracting the oil of imperishable fragrance; for that they need the expanded blossom.  Represent Peitho, my Queen! the goddess herself might be proud of such a representative.”

“And if she were so indeed,” cried Cleopatra, “how happy am I to hear such words from the lips of Aristarchus.  It is settled—­I play Peitho.  My companion Zoe may take the part of Artemis, and her grave sister that of Pallas Athene.  For the mother’s part we have several matrons to choose from; the eldest daughter of Epitropes appears to me fitted for the part of Aphrodite; she is wonderfully lovely.”

“Is she stupid too?” asked Euergetes.  “That is also an attribute of the ever-smiling Cypria.”

“Enough so, I think, for our purpose,” laughed Cleopatra.  “But where are we to find such a Hebe as you have described, Lysias?  The daughter of Alimes the Arabarch is a charming child.”

“But she is brown, as brown as this excellent wine, and too thoroughly Egyptian,” said the high-steward, who superintended the young Macedonian cup-bearers; he bowed deeply as he spoke, and modestly drew the queen’s attention to his own daughter, a maiden of sixteen.  But Cleopatra objected, that she was much taller than herself, and that she would have to stand by the Hebe, and lay her hand on her arm.

Other maidens were rejected on various grounds, and Euergetes had already proposed to send off a carrier-pigeon to Alexandria to command that some fair Greek girl should be sent by an express quadriga to Memphis—­where the dark Egyptian gods and men flourish, and are more numerous than the fair race of Greeks—­when Lysias exclaimed: