“Any stranger would take her for nineteen,” thought her mother.  “How becoming the white robe and blue-bordered peplum are to her; how softly the azure bombyx ribbon is wound around the thick waves of her hair!  Who would believe that no curling-irons had touched the little golden locks that rest so gracefully on her brow, that no paint-brush had any share in producing the rose and white hues on her cheek, or the alabaster glimmer of her arms?  Such beauty easily becomes a Danae dower; but it is a magnificent gift of the gods!  Yet why did she put on the bracelet which Antony gave her after his last visit?  Scarcely on my account.  She can hardly expect Dion at so late an hour.  Even while I am rejoicing in the sight of her beauty, some new misfortune may be impending.”

So ran the current of her thoughts while her daughter was gaily describing what she had witnessed at her grandfather’s.  Meanwhile she had nestled comfortably among the cushions of a lounge; and when she mentioned Antyllus’s unseemly conduct, she spoke of it, with a carelessness that startled Berenike, as a vexatious piece of rudeness which must not occur again.

“But who is to prevent it?” asked the mother anxiously.

“Who, save ourselves?” replied Barine.  “He will not be admitted.”

“And if he forced his way in?”

Barine’s big blue eyes flashed angrily, and there was no lack of decision in her voice as she exclaimed, “Let him try it!”

“But what power have we to restrain the son of Antony?” asked Berenike.  “I do not know.”

“I do,” replied her daughter.  “I will be brief, for a visitor is coming.”

“So late?” asked the mother anxiously.

“Archibius wishes to discuss an important matter with us.”

The lines on the brow of the older woman smoothed, but it contracted again as she exclaimed inquiringly:  “Important business at so unusual an hour!  Ah, I have expected nothing good since early morning!  On my way to my brother’s a raven flew up before me and fluttered towards the left into the garden.”

“But I,” replied Barine, after receiving, in reply to her inquiry, a favourable report concerning her uncle’s health-"I met seven—­there were neither more nor less; for seven is the best of numbers—­seven snow-white doves, which all flew swiftly towards the right.  The fairest of all came first, bearing in its beak a little basket which contained the power that will keep Antony’s son away from us.  Don’t look at me in such amazement, you dear receptacle of every terror.”

“But, child, you said that Archibius was coming so late to discuss an important matter,” rejoined the mother.

“He must be here soon.”

“Then cease this talking in riddles; I do not guess them quickly.”