blame us
in any way if a girl, who loves finery, runs away from her keepers?"

"But all the world will see her as Hebe," sighed Philometor, "and
proclaim us--the sovereign protectors of the worship of Serapis--as
violators of the temple, if Asclepiodorus leads the cry. No, no, the
high-priest must first be courteously applied to. In the case of
his raising any difficulties, but not otherwise, shall Zoe make the
attempt."

"So be it then," said the queen, as if it were her part to express her
confirmation of her husband's proposition.

"Let your lady accompany me," begged Eulaeus, "and prefer your request
to Asclepiodorus. While I am speaking with the high-priest, Zoe can at
any rate win over the girl, and whatever we do must be done to-morrow,
or the Roman will be beforehand with us. I know that he has cast an eye
on Irene, who is in fact most lovely. He gives her flowers, feeds his
pet bird with pheasants and peaches and other sweetmeats, lets himself
be lured into the Serapeum by his lady-love as often as possible, stays
there whole hours, and piously follows the processions, in order to
present the violets with which you graciously honored him by giving them
to his fair one--who no doubt would rather wear royal flowers than any
others--"

"Liar!" cried the queen, interrupting the courtier in such violent
excitement and such ungoverned rage, so completely beside herself, that
her husband drew back startled.

"You are a slanderer! a base calumniator! The Roman attacks you with
naked weapons, but you slink in the dark, like a scorpion, and try
to sting your enemy in the heel. Apelles, the painter, warns us--the
grandchildren of Lagus--against folks of your kidney in the picture he
painted against Antiphilus; as I look at you I am reminded of his Demon
of Calumny. The same spite and malice gleam in your eyes as in hers, and
the same fury and greed for some victim, fire your flushed face! How
you would rejoice if the youth whom Apelles has represented Calumny as
clutching by the hair, could but be Publius! and if only the lean and
hollow-eyed form of Envy, and the loathsome female figures of Cunning
and Treachery would come to your did as they have to hers! But I
remember too the steadfast and truthful glance of the boy she has flung
to the ground, his arms thrown up to heaven, appealing for protection
to the goddess and the king--and though Publius Scipio is man enough
to guard himself against open attack, I will