While listening to the resurrection hymn of the priests of Serapis, she had asked herself if it might not be possible to give Antony, when he had been roused to fresh energy, the son of Caesar as a companion in arms.  True, she had found the boy in a mood far different from the one for which she had hoped.  If he had once been carried on to a bold deed, it seemed to have exhausted his energy; for he remained absorbed in the most pitiable love-sickness.  Yet he had not recovered from his illness.  When he was better he would surely wake to active interest in the events which threatened to exert so great an influence on his own existence and, like the humblest slave, lament the defeat of Actium.  Hitherto he had listened to the tidings of battle which had reached his ears with an indifference that seemed intelligible and pardonable only when attributed to his wound.

His tutor Rhodon had just requested a leave of absence, remarking that Caesarion would not lack companions, since he was expecting Antyllus and other youths of his own age.  A flood of light streamed from the windows of the reception hall of the “King of kings.”  There was still time to seek him and make him understand what was at stake.  Ah! if she could but succeed in awaking his father’s spirit!  If that culpable attack should prove the harbinger of future deeds of manly daring!

No interview with him as yet had encouraged this expectation, but a mother’s heart easily sees, even in disappointment, a step which leads to a new hope.  When Charmian entered to announce Antony’s body-slave, she sent word to him to wait, and requested her friend to accompany her to her son.

As they approached the apartments occupied by Caesarion, Antyllus’s loud voice reached them through the open door, whose curtain was only half drawn.  The first word which the Queen distinguished was her own name; so, motioning to her companion, she stood still.  Barine was again the subject of conversation.

Antony’s son was relating what Alexas had told him.  Cleopatra, the Syrian had asserted, intended to send the young beauty to the mines or into exile, and severely punish Dion; but both had made their escape.  The Ephebi had behaved treacherously by taking sides with their foe.  But this was because they were not yet invested with their robes.  He hoped to induce his father to do this as soon as he shook off his pitiable misanthropy.  And he must also be persuaded to direct the pursuit of the fugitives.  “This will not be difficult,” he cried insolently, “for the old man appreciates beauty, and has himself cast an eye on the singer.  If they capture her, I’ll guarantee nothing, you ‘King of kings!’ for, spite of his grey beard, he can cut us all out with the women, and Barine—­as we have heard—­doesn’t think a man of much importance until his locks begin to grow thin.  I gave Derketaeus orders to send all his men in pursuit.  He’s as cunning as a fox, and the police are compelled to obey him.”