"Go away! You are saying it to frighten me, because I teased you."
"Child," he ejaculated, "as though such a thing counted! I owe it to those who are fighting for me."
Cleopatra's heart sank.
"You wish to be with your wife!"
In spite of the gravity of the occasion Antony could not help laughing.
"You! Jealous of Fulvia!"
After all, why should she not be jealous? The cause which this deserted wife was heading was not led by an ordinary woman. Beautiful or hideous, with their storms, their upheavals, their tears, these passionate souls are the most dangerous rivals. Cleopatra understood; she knew, better than any other woman, of what the heart is capable to protect or regain its loved one. And Antony's temperament did not reassure her. At a distance from her, he would surely find in that other woman, that Amazon, the very support that his wavering will unconsciously sought in all his relations with women.
All these soul-torturing thoughts she put in her next demand:
"You want me to die, then?" And, as though she were already nearing death, she fell back on her pillows, pale and sobbing.
That was enough to shake his new-born resolution. Antony was already wavering. Bending over that dear face, which he had so often seen flushed with happiness, his only thought was to repair the damage his words had wrought. He would not leave her at once. He would get Ahenobarbus to take his place and later, should it be necessary...