Klea’s hand was already extended to take the violets out of the brown plaits, for her sister was still kneeling before her, but at this question her arm dropped, and she said more positively and distinctly than she had yet spoken and in a voice, whose sonorous but musical tones were almost masculine and certainly remarkable in a girl: 

“The bunch of flowers belongs to me; but keep it till it is faded, by mid-day, and then return it to me.”

“It belongs to you?” repeated the younger girl, raising her eyes in surprise to her sister, for to this hour what had been Klea’s had been hers also.  “But I always used to take the flowers you brought home; what is there special in these?”

“They are only violets like any other violets,” replied Klea coloring deeply.  “But the queen has worn them.”

“The queen!” cried her sister springing to her feet and clasping her hands in astonishment.  “She gave you the flowers?  And you never told me till now?  To be sure when you came home from the procession yesterday you only asked me how my foot was and whether my clothes were whole and then not another mortal word did you utter.  Did Cleopatra herself give you this bunch?”

“How should she?” retorted Klea.  “One of her escort threw them to me; but drop the subject pray!  Give me the water, please, my mouth is parched and I can hardly speak for thirst.”

The bright color dyed her cheeks again as she spoke, but Irene did not observe it, for—­delighted to make up for her evil doings by performing some little service—­she ran to fetch the water-jar; while Klea filled and emptied her wooden bowl she said, gracefully lifting a small foot, to show to her sister: 

“Look, the cut is almost healed and I can wear my sandal again.  Now I shall tie it on and go and ask Serapion for some bread for you and perhaps he will give us a few dates.  Please loosen the straps for me a little, here, round the ankle, my skin is so thin and tender that a little thing hurts me which you would hardly feel.  At mid-day I will go with you and help fill the jars for the altar, and later in the day I can accompany you in the procession which was postponed from yesterday.  If only the queen and the great foreigner should come again to look on at it!  That would be splendid!  Now, I am going, and before you have drunk the last bowl of water you shall have some bread, for I will coax the old man so prettily that he can’t say ‘no.’”

Irene opened the door, and as the broad sunlight fell in it lighted up tints of gold in her chestnut hair, and her sister looking after her could almost fancy that the sunbeams had got entangled with the waving glory round her head.  The bunch of violets was the last thing she took note of as Irene went out into the open air; then she was alone and she shook her head gently as she said to herself:  “I give up everything to her and what I have left she takes from me.  Three times have I met the Roman, yesterday he gave me the violets, and I did want to keep those for myself—­and now—­” As she spoke she clasped the bowl she still held in her hand closely to her and her lips trembled pitifully, but only for an instant; she drew herself up and said firmly:  “But it is all as it should be.”