"The oracle instructed me to follow the Whirlwind," Clearchus said,
"Tell me about it," Olympias commanded, seating herself upon a couch. She made him relate his experience with the oracle in the minutest detail, asking many questions that indicated her lively curiosity. She then inquired of Artemisia's personal appearance, her age, and family.
"Wait here for me," she said finally, and left them alone in the room.
"She seems hardly older than Alexander," Clearchus remarked.
"Appearances are sometimes deceitful," Philotas replied dryly, "especially when they are assisted by art."
The queen was absent for more than half an hour. She seemed tired when she returned.
"I have consulted the Gods," she said, "and you will find her if your heart remains true and strong. The priestess of Apollo told the truth."
"I thank you for giving me this consolation," Clearchus said eagerly, hoping that she would tell him more; but she began pacing thoughtfully backward and forward, with bent head, apparently forgetful of his presence.
Suddenly she stopped before him and smiled, rather wistfully he thought. He almost fancied that there were tears under the fringe of her dark lashes. "Farewell," she said. "May the Gods protect you—and Alexander, my son."
She resumed her walk, and the young man left the apartment in silence. Clearchus tried in vain to analyze the strange impression that she had made upon him, but for many days her smile, half sad, and her mysterious dark eyes, with the living spark in their depths, continued to haunt him.