Charmian had not forgotten to provide the gifts; and when the chamberlains and waiting-women led the children into a large hall to offer them refreshments, the Queen’s eyes sparkled so brightly that the companion of her childhood ventured to make her difficult confession.

And, as so often happens, the event we most dread shows, when it actually occurs, a friendly or indifferent aspect; this was the case now.  Nothing in life is either great or small—­the one may be transformed to the other, according to the things with which it is compared.  The tallest man becomes a dwarf beside a rocky giant of the mountain chain, the smallest is a Titan to the swarming ants in the forest.  The beggar seizes as a treasure what the rich man scornfully casts aside.  That which the day before yesterday seemed to Cleopatra unendurable, roused her keenest anxiety, robbed her of part of her night’s repose, and induced her to adopt strenuous measures, now appeared trivial and scarcely worthy of consideration.

Yesterday and to-day had brought events and called up questions which forced Barine’s disappearance into the realm of unimportant matters.

Charmian’s confession was preceded by the statement that she longed for rest yet, nevertheless, was ready to remain with her royal friend, in every situation, until she no longer desired her services and sent her away.  But she feared that this moment had come.

Cleopatra interrupted her with the assurance that she was speaking of something utterly impossible; and when Charmian disclosed Barine’s escape, and admitted that it was she who had aided the flight of the innocent and sorely threatened granddaughter of Didymus, the Queen started up angrily and frowned, but it was only for a moment.  Then, with a smile, she shook her finger at her friend, embraced her, and gravely but kindly assured her that, of all vices, ingratitude was most alien to her nature.  The companion of her childhood had bestowed so many proofs of faithfulness, love, self-sacrifice, and laborious service in her behalf that they could not be long outweighed by a single act of wilful disobedience.  An abundant supply would still remain, by virtue of which she might continue to sin without fearing that Cleopatra would ever part from her Charmian.

The latter again perceived that nothing on earth could be hostile or sharp enough to sever the bond which united her to this woman.  When her lips overflowed with the gratitude which filled her heart, Cleopatra admitted that it seemed as if, in aiding Barine’s escape, she had rendered her a service.  The caution with which Charmian had concealed Barine’s refuge had not escaped her notice, and she did not ask to learn it.  It was enough for her that the dangerous beauty was out of Caesarion’s reach.  As for Antony, a wall now separated him from the world, and consequently from the woman who, spite of Alexas’s accusations, had probably never stood closer to his heart.