ell that she could not
overwhelm her Roman guest with show of plate and gems, nor did she
try. But Cornelia forgot about such things long before they rose. For
the queen displayed to her a myriad dainty perfections and refinements
that never had endeared themselves to the grosser Italian gourmands.
Cleomenes had whispered to his companion, before they reached the
palace, "Plato tells of four sorts of flattery; but I can promise you
a thousand sorts from Cleopatra if she but cares to win your
friendship." And surely the queen did thus desire. For Cornelia was
surfeited with strange dishes, and rare sherbets, flowers, and music;
surfeited with everything save the words that fell from the lips of
Cleopatra.

The more the queen spoke, the more complete became the vassalage of
her guest. Cornelia discovered that this woman, who was but little
older than she, could speak fluently seven languages, and carried
about with her an exceedingly accurate knowledge, not merely of the
administration of Egypt, but of the politics of Rome, and the details
of the great contest racking the Republic. When Cleopatra asked
questions concerning Roman affairs, Cornelia was fain to confess
ignorance and be put to shame. And as the evening advanced, Cornelia
found herself talking with more and more confidence to this woman that
she had never addressed until an hour before. Cleopatra of course
knew, as all Alexandria knew, that Cornelia and Fabia were Roman
ladies of the highest rank, who had been forced to take refuge abroad
until the political crisis was over. But now Cornelia told the queen
the true reasons that had led her to be willing to submit to
Demetrius's friendly kidnapping; and when, in a burst of
frankness,--which in a saner moment Cornelia would have deemed
unwise,--she told of her betrothal to Drusus and willingness to wait
long for him, if they might only come together in the end, the queen
seemed unable to speak with her usual bright vivacity. Presently she
said:--

"So you love this young man as none other? You are willing to be all
your life his handmaid, his slave?"

"I love him, assuredly," said Cornelia, with a little heat. "And so
far as being all my life his slave, I've given that never so much as a
thought. Where love is, there slavery cannot be."

"And where love is not, there slavery must be, doubtless you wish to
add?" broke in the queen.

"I should be very miserable if I had nothing to love, which I might
love