Shortly after the Nubian’s return the Queen came back to the palace from the mausoleum.  Her features bore an impress of resolution usually alien to them; nay, the firmly compressed lips gave them an expression of actual sternness.  She knew what duty required, and regarded her approaching end as an inevitable necessity.  Death seemed to her like a journey which she must take in order to escape the most terrible disgrace.  Besides, life after the death of Antony was no longer the same; it had been only a tiresome delay and waiting for the children’s sake.

The visit to the tomb had been intended, as it were, to announce her coming to her husband.  She had remained a long time in the silent hall, where she had garlanded the coffin with flowers, kissed it, talked to the dead man as if he were still alive, and told him that the day had come when what he had mentioned in his will as the warmest desire of his heart—­to rest beside her in the same tomb—­would be fulfilled.  Among the thousand forms of suffering which had assailed her, nothing had seemed so hard to bear as to be deprived of his society and love.

Then she had gone into the garden, embraced and kissed the children, and entreated them to remember her tenderly.  Her purpose had not been concealed from Archibius, but Charmian had told him the menace of the future, and he approved her decision.  By the exertion of all his innate strength of will, he succeeded in concealing the grief which rent his faithful heart.  She must die.  The thought of seeing her adorn the triumphal procession of Octavianus was unbearable to him also.  Her thanks and entreaties to be an affectionate guardian to the children were received with an external calmness which afterwards seemed to him utterly incomprehensible.

When she spoke of her approaching meeting with her lover, he asked whether she had entirely abandoned the teachings of Epicurus, who believed that death absolutely ended existence.

Cleopatra eagerly assented, saying:  “Absence of pain has ceased to appear to me the chief earthly blessing, since I have known that love does not bring pleasure only, since I have learned that pain is the inseparable companion of love.  I will not give it up, nor will I part from my lover.  Whoever experiences what fate has allotted to me has learned to know other gods than those whom the master described as dwelling happily in undisturbed repose.  Rather eternal torture in another world, united to the man I love, than painless, joyless mere existence in a desolate, incomprehensible, unknown region!  You will be the last to teach the children to yearn for freedom from pain—­”

“Because, like you,” cried Archibius, “I have learned how great a blessing is love, and that love is pain.”

As he spoke he bent over her hand to kiss it, but she took his temples between her hands and, bending hastily, pressed her lips on his broad brow.

Then his self-control vanished, and, sobbing aloud, he hurried back to the children.