“Hast thou never a word without a sting?” I asked.  “Know, then, that I went whither thou hadst not dared to go, to gather means to hold Egypt from the grasp of Antony.”

“So,” she answered, looking up swiftly.  “Thou foolish man!  Thou hadst done better to save thy labour, for Antony will grasp Egypt in thy despite.  What power hast thou to-day in Egypt?”

“That he may do in my despite; but in despite of Cleopatra that he cannot do,” I said.

“Nay, but with the aid of Cleopatra he can and will do it,” she answered with a bitter smile.  “When the Queen sails in state up Cydnus stream she will surely draw this coarse Antony thence to Alexandria, conquering, and yet, like thee, a slave!”

“It is false!  I say that it is false!  Cleopatra goes not to Tarsus, and Antony comes not to Alexandria; or, if he come, it will be to take the chance of war.”

“Now, thinkest thou thus?” she answered with a little laugh.  “Well, if it please thee, think as thou wilt.  Within three days thou shalt know.  It is pretty to see how easily thou art fooled.  Farewell!  Go, dream on Love, for surely Love is sweet.”

And she went, leaving me angered and troubled at heart.

I saw Cleopatra no more that day, but on the day which followed I saw her.  She was in a heavy mood, and had no gentle word for me.  I spake to her of the defence of Egypt, but she put the matter away.

“Why dost thou weary me?” she said with anger; “canst thou not see that I am lost in troubles?  When Dellius has had his answer to-morrow then we will speak of these matters.”

“Ay,” I said, “when Dellius has had his answer; and knowest thou that but yesterday, Charmion—­whom about the palace they name the ’Keeper of the Queen’s secrets’—­Charmion swore that the answer would be ’Go in peace, I come to Antony!’”

“Charmion knows nothing of my heart,” said Cleopatra, stamping her foot in anger, “and if she talk so freely the girl shall be scourged out of my Court, as is her desert.  Though, in truth,” she added, “she has more wisdom in that small head of hers than all my privy councillors—­ay, and more wit to use it.  Knowest thou that I have sold a portion of those gems to the rich Jews of Alexandria, and at a great price, ay, at five thousand sestertia for each one?[*] But a few, in truth, for they could not buy more as yet.  It was rare to see their eyes when they fell upon them:  they grew large as apples with avarice and wonder.  And now leave me, Harmachis, for I am weary.  The memory of that dreadful night is with me yet.”

     [*] About forty thousand pounds of our money.—­Editor.

I bowed and rose to go, and yet stood wavering.

“Pardon me, Cleopatra; it is of our marriage.”

“Our marriage!  Why, are we not indeed already wed?” she answered.

“Yes; but not before the world.  Thou didst promise.”

“Ay, Harmachis, I promised; and to-morrow, when I have rid me of this Dellius, I will keep my promise, and name thee Cleopatra’s Lord before the Court.  See that thou art in thy place.  Art content?”