The zither-player finished his hymn just as Dion approached the theatre, and the crowd began to disperse.  Every one was full of the joyful tidings of victory, and one shouted to another what Anaxenor, the favourite of the great Antony, who must surely know, had just recited in thrilling verse.  Many a joyous Io and loud Evoe to Cleopatra, the new Isis, and Antony, the new Dionysus, resounded through the air, while bearded and smooth, delicate Greek and thick Egyptian lips joined in the shout, “To the Sebasteum!” This was the royal palace, which faced the government building containing the Regent’s residence.  The populace desired to have the delightful news confirmed, and to express, by a public demonstration, the grateful joy which filled every heart.

Dion, too, was eager to obtain certainty, and, though usually averse to mingling with the populace during such noisy outbursts of feeling, he was preparing to follow the crowd thronging towards the Sebasteum, when the shouts of runners clearing a passage for a closed litter fell upon his ear.

It was occupied by Iras, the Queen’s trusted attendant.  If any one could give accurate information, it was she; yet it would hardly be possible to gain an opportunity of conversing with her in this throng.  But Iras must have had a different opinion; she had seen Dion, and now called him to her side.  There were hoarse tones in her voice, usually so clear and musical, which betrayed the emotion raging in her breast as she assailed the young Macedonian noble with a flood of questions.  Without giving him the usual greeting, she hastily desired to know what was exciting the people, who had brought the tidings of victory, and whither the multitude was flocking?

Dion had found it difficult not to be forced from the litter while answering.  Iris perceived this, and as they were just passing the Maeander, the labyrinth, which was closed after sunset, she ordered her bearers to carry the litter to the entrance, made herself known to the watchman, ordered the outer court to be opened, the litter to be placed there, and the bearers and runners to wait outside for her summons, which would soon be given.

This unusual haste and excitement filled Dion with just solicitude.  She refused his invitation to alight and walk up and down, declaring that life offered so many labyrinths that one need not seek them.  He, too, seemed to be following paths which were scarcely straight ones.  “Why,” she concluded, thrusting her head far out of the opening in the litter, “are you rendering it so difficult for the Regent and your own uncle to execute their plans, making common cause with the populace, like a paid agitator?”

“Like Philostratus, you mean, on whom I bestowed a few blows in addition to the golden guerdon received from your hand?”

“Ay, like him, for aught I care.  Probably it was you, too, who had him flung into the water, after you had vented your wrath on him?  You managed your cause well.  What we do for love’s sake is usually successful.  No matter, if only his brother Alexas does not rouse Antony against you.  For my part, I merely desire to know why and for whom all this was done.”