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, on the contrary, seem to delight in pouring wormwood on her last mouthful.”
“Certainly,” she answered, her eyes sparkling brightly. “Malice is the purest of pleasures; at least to me, when exercised on this woman.”
The Syrian, with a strange smile, held out his hand, saying:
“Keep your good-will towards me, Iras.”
“Because,” she retorted with a sneer, “evil may follow my enmity. I think so, too. I am not especially sensitive concerning myself, but whoever dares”—here she raised her voice—“to harm one whom I— Just listen to the cheers! How she carries all hearts with her! Though Fate had made her a beggar, she would still be peerless among women. She is like the sun. The clouds which intrude upon her pathway of radiance are consumed and disappear.”
While uttering the last sentence she had turned towards Barine, whose ear the sharp voice again pierced like a thorn, as she commanded her to prepare for the examination.
Almost at the same moment the door, caught by the wind, closed with a loud bang. The “introducer”* had opened it, and, after a hasty glance, exclaimed:
* Marshal of the court.
“The audience will not be given in this meeting place for all the winds of heaven! Her Majesty desires to receive her late visitor in the Hall of Shells.”