“If I were not forced to lie here like a dead donkey, I would soon find her,” sighed Caesarion.  “Night or day, she is never out of my mind.  I have already spent everything I possessed in the search.  Yesterday I sent for the steward Seleukus.  What is the use of being my mother’s son, and the fat little fellow isn’t specially scrupulous!  He will do nothing, yet there must be gold enough.  The Queen has sunk millions in the sand on the Syrian frontier of the Delta.  There is to be a square hole or something of the sort dug there to hide the fleet.  I only half understand the absurd plan.  The money might have paid hundreds of spies.  So talents are thrown away, and the strong-box is locked against the son.  But I’ll find one that will open to me.  I must have her, though I risk the crown.  It always sounds like a jeer when they call me the King of kings.  I am not fit for sovereignty.  Besides, the throne will be seized ere I really ascend it.  We are conquered, and if we succeed in concluding a peace, which will secure us life and a little more, we must be content.  For my part, I shall be satisfied with a country estate on the water, a sufficient supply of money and, above all, Barine.  What do I care for Egypt?  As Caesar’s son I ought to have ruled Rome; but the immortals knew what they were doing when they prompted my father to disinherit me.  To govern the world one must have less need of sleep.  Really—­you know it—­I always feel tired, even when I am well.  People must let me alone!  Your father, too, Antyllus, is laying down his arms and letting things go as they will.”

“Ah, so he is!” cried Antony’s son indignantly.  “But just wait!  The sleeping lion will wake again, and, when he uses his teeth and paws—­”

“My mother will run away, and your father will follow her,” replied Caesarion with a melancholy smile, wholly untinged by scorn.  “All is lost.  But conquered kings and queens are permitted to live.  Caesar’s son will not be exhibited to the Quirites in the triumphal procession.  Rhodon says that there would be an insurrection if I appeared in the Forum.  If I go there again, it certainly will not be in Octavianus’s train.  I am not suited for that kind of ignominy.  It would stifle me and, ere I would grant any man the pleasure of dragging the son of Caesar behind him to increase his own renown, I would put an end—­ten, nay, a hundred times over, in the good old Roman fashion, to my life, which is by no means especially attractive.  What is sweeter than sound sleep, and who will disturb and rouse me when Death has lowered his torch before me?  But now I think I shall be spared this extreme.  Whatever else they may inflict upon me will scarcely exceed my powers of endurance.  If any one has learned contentment it is I. The King of kings and Co-Regent of the Great Queen has been trained persistently, and with excellent success, to be content.  What should I be, and what am I?  Yet I do not complain,