ween them.

Yet, had this disturbing influence really existed? No. It was created
solely by Cleopatra's jealous imagination. If she would only permit her
to speak freely now, she should hear that Antony cared as little for her
as she, Barine, for the boy Caesarion. What prevented her from confessing
that her heart was another's? Iras had no one to blame save herself if
she spoke the truth pitilessly in her presence.

Cleopatra now turned to the "introducer," waving her hand towards the
throne and those who surrounded it.

Ay, she was indeed beautiful. How bright and clear was the light of her
large eyes, in spite of the harassing days through which she had passed
and the present night of watching!

Cleopatra's heart was still elated by the reception of her bold idea of
escape, and she approached Barine with gentler feelings and intentions.
She had chosen a pleasanter room for the interview than the one Iras had
selected. She desired a special environment to suit each mood, and as
soon as she saw the group of courtiers who surrounded the throne she
ordered their dismissal.

The "introducer," to carry out the usual ceremonial, had commanded their
presence in the audience chamber, but their attendance had given the
meeting a form which was now distasteful to the Queen. She wished to
question, not to condemn.

At so happy an hour it was a necessity of her nature to be gracious.
Perhaps she had been unduly anxious concerning this singer. It even
seemed probable; for a man who loved her like Antony could scarcely yearn
for the favour of another woman. This view had been freshly confirmed by
a brief conversation with the chief Inspector of Sacrifices, an estimable
old man, who, after hearing how Antony had hurried in pursuit of her at
Actium, raised his eyes and hands as if transported with rapture,
exclaiming: "Unhappy Queen! Yet happiest of women! No one was ever so
ardently beloved; and when the tale is told of the noble Trojan who
endured such sore sufferings for a woman's sake, future generations will
laud the woman whose resistless spell constrained the greatest man of his
day, the hero of heroes, to cast aside victory, fame, and the hope of the
world's sovereignty, as mere worthless rubbish."

Posterity, whose verdict she dreaded--this wise old reader of the future
was right--must extol her as the most fervently beloved, the most
desirable of women.

And Mark Antony? Even had the magic power of Nektanebus's gob