er dark eyes:
"now I will show thee how she loves thee. Knowest thou what was this
house? It was a priest's college; and, as thou wottest, Harmachis,
priests have their ways. This little room aforetime was the room of
the Head Priest, and the chamber that is beyond and below was the
gathering-place of the other priests. The old slave who keeps the house
told me all this, and also she revealed what I shall show thee. Now,
Harmachis, be silent as the dead, and follow me!"

She blew out the lamp, and by the little light that crept through the
shuttered casement led me by the hand to the far corner of the room.
Here she pressed upon the wall, and a door opened in its thickness. We
entered, and she closed the spring. Now we were in a little chamber,
some five cubits in length by four in breadth; for a faint light
struggled into the closet, and also the sound of voices, I knew not
whence. Loosing my hand, she crept to the end of the place, and looked
steadfastly at the wall; then crept back and, whispering "Silence!" led
me forward with her. Then I saw that there were eyeholes in the wall,
which pierced it, and were hidden on the farther side by carved work
in stone. I looked through the hole that was in front of me, and I saw
this: six cubits below was the level of the floor of another chamber,
lit with fragrant lamps, and most richly furnished. It was the
sleeping-place of Cleopatra, and there, within ten cubits of where we
stood, sat Cleopatra on a gilded couch, and by her side sat Antony.

"Tell me," Cleopatra murmured--for this place was so built that
every word spoken in the room below came to the ears of the listener
above--"tell me, noble Antony, wast pleased with my poor festival?"

"Ay," he answered in his deep soldier's voice, "ay, Egypt, I have made
feasts, and been bidden to feasts, but never saw I aught like thine; and
I tell thee this, though I am rough of tongue and unskilled in pretty
sayings such as women love, thou wast the richest sight of all that
splendid board. The red wine was not so red as thy beauteous cheek, the
roses smelt not so sweet as the odour of thy hair, and no sapphire there
with its changing light was so lovely as thy eyes of ocean blue."

"What! Praise from Antony! Sweet words from the lips of him whose
writings are so harsh! Why, it is praise indeed!"

"Ay," he went on, "it was a royal feast, though I grieve that thou didst
waste that great pearl; and what meant that hour-calling ast