Iras had valuable counsel to offer.  She was familiar with one of the prisons, whose doors she had opened to many a hapless mortal whose disappearance, in her opinion, might be of service to the Queen.  She had deemed it a duty, aided by the Keeper of the Seal, to anticipate her mistress in cases where her kind heart would have found it difficult to pronounce a severe sentence, and Cleopatra had permitted it, though without commendation or praise.  What happened within its walls—­thanks to the silence of the warder—­never passed beyond the portals.  If Barine cursed her life there, she would still fare better than she, Iras, who during the past few nights had been on the brink of despair whenever she thought of the man who had disdained her love and abandoned her for another.

As the Syrian held out his hand to take leave, she asked bluntly

“And Dion?”

“He cannot be set free,” was the reply, “for he loves Barine; nay, the fool was on the eve of leading her home to his beautiful palace as its mistress.”

“Is that true, really true?” asked Iras, whose cheeks and lips lost every tinge of colour, though she succeeded in maintaining her composure.

“He confessed it yesterday in a letter to his uncle, the Keeper of the Seal, in which he entreated him to do his utmost for his chosen bride, whom he would never resign.  But Zeno has no liking for this niece.  Do you wish to see the letter?”

“Then, of course, he cannot be set at liberty,” replied Iras, and there was additional shrillness in her voice.  “He will do everything in his power for the woman he loves, and that is much—­far more than you, who are half a stranger here, suspect.  The Macedonian families stand by each other.  He is a member of the council.  The bands of the Ephebi will support him to a man.  And the populace?—­He lately spoiled the game of your brother, who was acting for me, in a way.  He was finally dragged out of the basin of the fountain, dripping with water and overwhelmed with shame.”

“For that very reason his mouth must be closed.”

Iras nodded assent, but after a short pause she exclaimed angrily:  “I will help you to silence him, but not forever.  Do you hear?  Theodotus’s saying about the dead dogs which do not bite brought no blessing to any one who followed it.  There are other ways of getting rid of this man.”

“A bird sang that you were not unfriendly to him.”

“A bird?  Then it was probably an owl, which cannot see in the daylight.  His worst enemy, your brother, would probably sacrifice himself for his welfare sooner than I.”

“Then I shall begin to feel sympathy for this Dion.”

“I saw recently that your compassion surpassed mine.  Death is not the hardest punishment.”

“Is that the cause of this gracious respite?”