Now it was close to the landing.  The group on shore watched every inch of its majestic progress with breathless suspense, but when the first rope was flung to the slaves on shore several men in Greek robes pressed forward hurriedly among the courtiers.

They had come with a message, whose importance would permit no delay, to the Regent Mardion, who stood between Zeno and Iras, gazing gloomily at the ground with a frowning brow.  He was pondering over the words in which to address the Queen, and within a few minutes the ship would have made her landing, and Cleopatra might cross the bridge.  To disturb him at that moment was an undertaking few who knew the irritable, uncertain temper of the eunuch would care to risk.  But the tall Macedonian, who for a short time attracted the eyes of most of the spectators from the galley, ventured to do so.  It was the captain of the nightwatch, the aristocratic commander of the police force of the city.

“Only a word, my lord,” he whispered to the Regent, “though the time may be inopportune.”

“As inopportune as possible,” replied the eunuch with repellent harshness.

“We will say as inopportune as the degree of haste necessary for its decision.  The King Caesarion, with Antyllus and several companions, attacked a woman.  Blackened faces.  A fight.  Caesarion and the woman’s companion—­an aristocrat, member of the Council—­slightly wounded.  Lictors interfered just in time.  The young gentlemen were arrested.  At first they refused to give their names—­”

“Caesarion slightly, really only slightly wounded?” asked the eunuch with eager haste.

“Really and positively.  Olympus was summoned at once.  A knock on the head.  The man who was attacked flung him on the pavement in the struggle.”

“Dion, the son of Eumenes, is the man,” interrupted Iras, whose quick ear had caught the officer’s report.  “The woman is Barine, the daughter of the artist Leonax.”

“Then you know already?” asked the Macedonian in surprise.

“So it seems,” answered Mardion, gazing into the girl’s face with a significant glance.  Then, turning to her rather than to the Macedonian, he added, “I think we will have the young rascals set free and brought to Lochias with as little publicity as possible.”

“To the palace?” asked the Macedonian.

“Of course,” replied Iras firmly.  “Each to his own apartments, where they must remain until further orders.”

“Everything else must be deferred until after the reception,” added the eunuch, and the Macedonian, with a slight, haughty nod, drew back.

“Another misfortune,” sighed the eunuch.

“A boyish prank,” Iras answered quickly, “but even a still greater misfortune is less than nothing so long as we are not conscious of it.  This unpleasant occurrence must be concealed for the present from the Queen.  Up to this time it is a vexation, nothing more—­and it can and must remain so; for we have it in our power to uproot the poisonous tree whence it emanates.”