pelled to
exert the utmost self-restraint to avoid telling her enemy how utterly
she despised the cowardly cruelty of her conduct. But she succeeded in
keeping silent. Still, the painful constraint she imposed on herself must
find vent in some way, and, as the tortured anguish of her soul reached
its height, large tears rolled down her cheeks.

These, too, were noticed by her enemy and made the target of her wit; but
this time the sarcasm failed to produce its effect upon the Syrian, for,
instead of laughing, he grew grave, and whispered something which seemed
to Barine a reproof or a warning. Iras's reply was merely a contemptuous
shrug of the shoulders.

Barine had noticed long before that her mother, in her fear and
bewilderment, had brought her own cloak instead of her daughter's, and
this circumstance also did not seem to her foe too trivial for a sneer.

But the childish insolence that seemed to have taken possession of one
who usually by no means lacked dignity, was merely the mask beneath which
she concealed her own suffering. A grave motive was the source of the
mirth by which she affected to be moved at the sight of her enemy's
cloak. The grey, ill-fitting garment disfigured Barine, and she desired
that the Queen should feel confident of surpassing her rival even in
outward charms. No one, not even Cleopatra, could dispense with a
protecting wrap in this cold draught, and nothing suited her better than
the purple mantle in whose delicate woollen fabric black and gold dragons
and griffins were embroidered. Iras had taken care that it lay ready.
Barine could not fail to appear like a beggar in comparison, though
Alexas said that her blue kerchief was marvellously becoming.

He was a base-minded voluptuary, who, aided by rich gifts of mind and
wide knowledge, had shunned no means of ingratiating himself with Antony,
the most lavish of patrons. The repulse which this man, accustomed to
success, had received from Barine had been hard to forget, yet he did not
resign the hope of winning her. Never had she seemed more desirable than
in her touching weakness. Even base natures are averse to witnessing the
torture of the defenceless, and when Iras had aimed another poisoned
shaft at her, he ventured, at the risk of vexing his ally, to say, under
his breath:

"Condemned criminals are usually granted, before their end, a favourite
dish. I have no cause to wish Barine anything good; but I would not
grudge that. You,