At last Antony was in his mistress's arms. She held him close and her burning tears fell over him.
"My lover! My hero! And I did not trust you!"
And Antony, heedless of his torn flesh that the least motion tortured, pressed close to her.
"Cleopatra! Beauty of the world! I am dying! Let me have your lips once more!"
She pressed him close. A few words, sobs, and the last breath went from him. Falling beside the lifeless form of him who had been her joy and pride, Cleopatra tore her breast.
"Most generous of men! This is where my love has brought you!"
When Octavius heard of Antony's death he was not overjoyed. His royal prey had escaped him. He must secure Cleopatra at once, before she came to herself and found strength to carry out her mysterious plans.
To gain entrance to the mausoleum was not easy. Proculeius, son-in-law of Mæcenas and, like him, blindly devoted to Octavius, undertook the task. He was an old friend of Antony's, one of those who, although they had gone over to the adverse camp, still retained a certain regard for him. Antony, when dying, had designated him as the only one whom Cleopatra might trust to defend her interests and those of her children.
Therefore, when he came, bearing the condolences of Octavius and of the Roman army, and asked the Queen to receive him, she could not refuse. Suspicious, as always, and determined to open the doors to no one, she tried to rise from her bed and go to receive her visitor in a lower hall, which communicated with the outside only by a grating.
But all caution was vain. While the deceitful messenger discussed, across the iron bars, the magnificent obsequies which Octavius was planning in honour of his great rival, his confederates effected a most cowardly entrance.