“The fair girl whom I mean,” replied Lysias, “has never entered this or any other palace; indeed I am almost afraid of being too bold in suggesting to our illustrious queen so humble a child as fit to stand beside her, though only in sport.”

“I shall even have to touch her arm with my hand!” said the queen anxiously, and she drew up her fingers as if she had to touch some unclean thing.  If you mean a flower-seller or a flute-player or something of that kind—­”

“How could I dare to suggest anything so improper?” Lysias hastily interposed.  “The girl of whom I speak may be sixteen years old; she is innocence itself incarnate, and she looks like a bud ready to open perhaps in the morning dew that may succeed this very night, but which as yet is still enfolded in its cup.  She is of Greek race, about as tall as you are, Cleopatra; she has wonderful gazelle-like eyes, her little head is covered by a mass of abundant brown hair, when she smiles she has delicious dimples in her cheeks—­and she will be sure to smile when such a Peitho speaks to her!”

“You are rousing our curiosity,” cried Philometor.  “In what garden, pray, does this blossom grow?”

“And how is it,” added Cleopatra, “that my husband has not discovered it long since, and transplanted it to our palace.”

“Probably,” answered Lysias, “because he who possesses Cleopatra, the fairest rose of Egypt, regards the violets by the roadside as too insignificant to be worth glancing at.  Besides, the hedge that fences round my bud grows in a gloomy spot; it is difficult of access and suspiciously watched.  To be brief:  our Hebe is a water-bearer in the temple of Serapis, and her name is Irene.”

CHAPTER XI.

Lysias was one of those men from whose lips nothing ever sounds as if it were meant seriously.  His statement that he regarded a serving girl from the temple of Serapis as fit to personate Hebe, was spoken as naturally and simply as if he were telling a tale for children; but his words produced an effect on his hearers like the sound of waters rushing into a leaky ship.

Publius had turned perfectly white, and it was not till his friend had uttered the name of Irene that he in some degree recovered his composure; Philometor had struck his cup on the table, and called out in much excitement: 

“A water-bearer of Serapis to play Hebe in a gay festal performance!  Do you conceive it possible, Cleopatra?”

“Impossible—­it is absolutely out of the question,” replied the queen, decidedly.  Euergetes, who also had opened his eyes wide at the Corinthian’s proposition, sat for a long time gazing into his cup in silence; while his brother and sister continued to express their surprise and disapprobation and to speak of the respect and consideration which even kings must pay to the priests and servants of Serapis.

At length, once more lifting his wreath and crown, he raised his curls with both hands, and said, quite calmly and decisively;