had seen many a splendid banquet and dinner party in Rome.
Even Oriental kings had not a great deal to teach the "masters of the
toga" in ostentatious luxury. Perhaps the queen had realized this. The
present occasion called, indeed for very little formality, for,
besides Cornelia, Cleomenes was the only guest; and when that
gentleman inquired politely if his Majesty, the King Ptolemaeus, was to
honour them with his presence, Cleopatra replied, with an eloquent
raising of the eyebrows:--

"The king will be to-night, as he always is, with his
tutor--Pothinus."

There was indescribable scorn in the last word.

The doors of the reception hall had been flung back on noiseless
pivots by unseen hands. The banqueting room disclosed within was not
so much a room as a garden. Flowers, flowers were everywhere, roses,
violets, narcissuses, and a score of others breathing forth a heavy
fragrance. Overhead, the goldstudded ceiling was converted into a vast
arbour of blending flowery tints. The room was large, very large for
only three banqueters; on the walls, from out between the potted
tropical plants, shone marvellous marble reliefs, one hundred in all;
and in betwixt them were matchless paintings. Framing, after a
fashion, the pictures, were equally perfect embroideries, portraying
in silk and fine linen the stories of Thebes, the kingly house of
Argos, and many another myth of fame. The pillars of the room
represented palm trees and Bacchic thyrsi; skins of wild beasts were
fastened high up to the walls; and everywhere was the sheen of silver
and gold, the splendour of scarlet and purple tapestries.

"The decorations of this room," said the queen, as her two guests
entered, "are nearly all preserved from the great banqueting pavilion
of Ptolemaeus Philadelphus, which he erected for the grand festival
that ushered in his reign."

Cornelia drew back as her foot crossed the threshold. Her sandals trod
on the fair white cup of a blooming lily. The queen laughed as merrily
as a little girl at her confusion.

"In Rome, I doubt not," she said, smiling, "there are not flowers
enough at this time of year to have them for a carpet. But this is
Alexandria. Flowers are never out of bloom."

So Cornelia advanced, but perhaps it grieved her more to tread on the
innocent flowers, than any small thing had since she left Baiae.

And then the banquet, if such it may be termed when there are but
three to enjoy it, began. Cleopatra knew w