CLEOPATRA. No: the Nile is my ancestor; and he is a god. Oh! I have
thought of something. The Nile shall name it himself. Let us call upon
him. (To the Major-Domo) Send for him. (The three men stare at one
another; but the Major-Domo goes out as if he had received the most
matter-of-fact order.) And (to the retinue) away with you all.

The retinue withdraws, making obeisance.

A priest enters, carrying a miniature sphinx with a tiny tripod before
it. A morsel of incense is smoking in the tripod. The priest comes to
the table and places the image in the middle of it. The light begins to
change to the magenta purple of the Egyptian sunset, as if the god had
brought a strange colored shadow with him. The three men are determined
not to be impressed; but they feel curious in spite of themselves.

CAESAR. What hocus-pocus is this?

CLEOPATRA. You shall see. And it is NOT hocus-pocus. To do it properly,
we should kill something to please him; but perhaps he will answer
Caesar without that if we spill some wine to him.

APOLLODORUS (turning his head to look up over his shoulder at Ra). Why
not appeal to our hawkheaded friend here?

CLEOPATRA (nervously). Sh! He will hear you and be angry.

RUFIO (phlegmatically). The source of the Nile is out of his district, I
expect.

CLEOPATRA. No: I will have my city named by nobody but my dear little
sphinx, because it was in its arms that Caesar found me asleep. (She
languishes at Caesar; then turns curtly to the priest.) Go, I am a
priestess, and have power to take your charge from you. (The priest
makes a reverence and goes out.) Now let us call on the Nile all
together. Perhaps he will rap on the table.

CAESAR. What! Table rapping! Are such superstitions still believed in
this year 707 of the Republic?

CLEOPATRA. It is no superstition: our priests learn lots of things from
the tables. Is it not so, Apollodorus?

APOLLODORUS. Yes: I profess myself a converted man. When Cleopatra is
priestess, Apollodorus is devotee. Propose the conjuration.

CLEOPATRA. You must say with me "Send us thy voice, Father Nile."

ALL FOUR (holding their glasses together before the idol). Send us thy
voice, Father Nile.

The death cry of a man in mortal terror and agony answers them.
Appalled, the men set down their glasses, and listen. Silence. The
purple deepens in the sky. Caesar, glancing at Cleopatra, catches
her pouring out her wine before the god, with gleaming eyes, and mute
ass