litics,
were allowed free access to their friends at the palace. Young
Ptolemaeus, who was a dark-eyed and, at bottom, dark-hearted youth,
completely under the thumb of Pothinus, exerted himself, after a
fashion, to be agreeable to his visitors; but he was too unfavourable
a contrast to his gifted sister to win much grace in Cornelia's eyes.
Agias, who was living with Cleomenes, nominally for the purpose of
learning the latter's business, preparatory to becoming a partner on
capital to come from his predatory cousin, as a matter of fact spent a
great part of his time at the palace also, dancing attendance upon his
Roman friends. Pratinas, indeed, was on hand, not really to distress
them, but to vex by the mere knowledge of his presence. Cornelia met
the Greek with a stony haughtiness that chilled all his professions of
desire to serve her and to renew the acquaintance formed at Rome.
Agias had discovered that Pratinas had advised Pothinus to keep his
hands on the ladies, especially on Cornelia, because whichever side of
the Roman factions won, there were those who would reward suitably any
who could deliver her over to them. From this Cornelia had to infer
that the defeat of the Caesarians meant her own enthralment to her
uncle and Lucius Ahenobarbus. Such a contingency she would not admit
as possible. She was simply rendered far more anxious. Pratinas had
given up seeking Drusus's life, it was clear; his interest in the
matter had ended the very instant the chance to levy blackmail on
Ahenobarbus had disappeared. Pratinas, in fact, Agias learned for her,
was never weary ridiculing the Roman oligarchs, and professing his
disgust with them; so Cornelia no longer had immediate cause to fear
him, though she hated him none the less.

After all, Pratinas thrust himself little upon her. He had his own
life to live, and it ran far apart from hers. Perhaps it was as well
for Cornelia that she was forced to spend the winter and ensuing
months in the ample purlieus of the palace. If living were but the
gratification of sensuous indolence, if existence were but luxurious
dozing and half-waking, then the palace of the Ptolemies were indeed
an Elysium, with its soft-footed, silent, swift, intelligent Oriental
servants; rooms where the eye grew weary of rare sculpture or fresco;
books drawn from the greatest library in the world--the Museum close
at hand; a broad view of the blue Mediterranean, ever changing and
ever the same, and o