forgotten a single hour!" Barine now earnestly entreated him to tell them
the story of those days, but Archibius gazed thoughtfully at the floor
for some time ere he raised his head and answered: "Perhaps it will be
well if you learn more of the woman for whose sake I ask a sacrifice at
your hands. Arius is your brother and uncle. He stands near to
Octavianus, for he was his intellectual guide, and I know that he reveres
the Roman's sister, Octavia, as a goddess. Antony is now struggling with
Octavianus for the sovereignty of the world. Octavia succumbed in the
conflict against the woman of whom you desire to hear. It is not my place
to judge her, but I may instruct and warn. Roman nations burn incense to
Octavia, and, when Cleopatra's name is uttered, they veil their faces
indignantly. Here in Alexandria many imitate them. Whoever upholds
shining purity may hope to win a share of the radiance emanating from it.
They call Octavia the lawful wife, and Cleopatra the criminal who robbed
her of her husband's heart."

"Not I!" exclaimed Barine eagerly. "How often I have heard my uncle say
that Antony and Cleopatra were fired with the most ardent love for each
other! Never did the arrows of Eros pierce two hearts more deeply. Then
it became necessary to save the state from civil war and bloodshed.
Antony consented to form an alliance with his rival, and, as security for
the sincerity of the reconciliation, he gave his hand in marriage to
Octavia, whose first husband, Marcellus, had just died--his hand, I say,
only his hand, for his heart was captive to the Queen of Egypt. And if
Antony was faithless to the wife to whom statecraft had bound him, he
kept his pledge to the other, who had an earlier, better title. If
Cleopatra did not give up the man to whom she had sworn fidelity forever,
she was right--a thousand times right! In my eyes--no matter how often my
mother rebukes me--Cleopatra, in the eyes of the immortals, is and always
will be Antony's real wife; the other, though on her marriage day no
custom, no word, no stroke of the stylus, no gesture was omitted, is the
intruder in a bond of love which rejoices the gods, however it may anger
mortals, and--forgive me, mother--virtuous matrons."

Berenike had listened with blushing cheeks to her vivacious daughter; now
with timid earnestness she interrupted: "I know that those are the views
of the new times; that Antony in the eyes of the Egyptians, and probably
also according