Her absence had not been noticed.  The Regent Mardion had received the procession in the Queen’s name, for Cleopatra had driven into the city, no one knew where.

Charmian entered her apartments with a lighter heart.  Anukis opened the door to them.  She had remained undisturbed, and it was a pleasure to Archibius to give the faithful, clever freedwoman an account of the matter with his own lips.  He could have bestowed no richer reward upon the modest servant, who listened to his words as if they were a revelation.  When she disclaimed the thanks with which he concluded, protesting that she was the person under obligation, the expression was sincere.  Her keen intellect instantly recognized the aristocrat’s manner of addressing an equal or an inferior; and he who, in her eyes, was the first of men, had described the course of events as though she had stood on the same level.  The Queen herself might have been satisfied with the report.

When she left Charmian’s rooms to join the other servants, she told herself that she was an especially favoured mortal; and when a young cook teased her about her head being sunk between her shoulders, she answered, laughing—­“My shoulders have grown so high because I shrug them so often at the fools who jeer at me and yet are not half so happy and grateful.”

Charmian, sorely wearied, had flung herself into an arm-chair, and Archibius took his place opposite to her.  They were happy in each other’s society, even when silent; but to-day the hearts of both were so full that they fared like those who are so worn out by fatigue that they cannot sleep.  How much they had to tell each other!—­yet it was long ere Charmian broke the silence and returned to the subject of the Queen’s wish, describing to her brother Cleopatra’s visit to the house which the children had built, how kind and cordial she had been; yet, a few minutes later, incensed by the mere mention of Barine’s name, she had dismissed her so ungraciously.

“I do not know what you intend,” she said in conclusion, “but, notwithstanding my love for her, I must perhaps decide in favour of what is most difficult, for—­when she learns that it was I who withdrew the daughter of Leonax from her and the base Alexas—­what treatment can I expect, especially as Iras no longer gives me the same affection, and shows that she has forgotten my love and care?  This will increase, and the worst of the matter is, that if the Queen begins to favour her, I cannot justly reproach her, for Iras is keener-witted, and has a more active brain.  Statecraft was always odious to me.  Iras, on the contrary, is delighted with the opportunity to speak on subjects connected with the government of the country, and especially the ceaseless, momentous game with Rome and the men who guide her destiny.”

“That game is lost,” Archibius broke in with so much earnestness that Charmian started, repeating in a low, timid tone: