“Paint them with all the fervour of that vivid power of imagination which interpreted even my glance in your favour, and devised the marvels by which you rendered the greatest and most brilliant man in Rome the happiest of mortals. But—by Zeus!—it is the fourth hour after noonday!”
A glance from the window had caused the exclamation. Then, pressing his hand upon his heart, he continued in a tone of the most sincere regret: “How gladly I would prolong this fascinating conversation, but important matters which, unfortunately, cannot be deferred, summon me——”
“And your answer?” cried Cleopatra, panting for breath and gazing at him with eyes full of expectation.
“Must I repeat it?” he asked with impatient haste. “Very well, then. In return for implicit confidence on your part, favour, forgiveness, cordiality, every consideration which you can justly desire. Your heart is so rich in warmth of feeling, grant me but a small share of it and ask tangible gifts in return. They are already bestowed.” Then greeting her like a friend who is reluctant to say farewell, he hastily left the apartment.
“Gone—gone!” cried Iras as the door closed behind him. “An eel that slips from the hand which strives to hold him.”
“Northern ice,” added Cleopatra gloomily as Charmian aided her to find a more comfortable position. “As smooth as it is cold; there is nothing more to hope.”
“Yes, my royal mistress, yes,” Iras eagerly protested. “Dolabella is waiting for him in the Philadelphus court-yard. From him—you have his promise—we shall learn what Octavianus has in store for you.”
In truth, the Cæsar did find the youth at the first gate of the palace, inspecting his superb Cyrenean horses.
“Magnificent animals!” cried Octavianus; “a gift from the city! Will you drive with me?—A remarkable, a very remarkable woman!”
“Isn’t she?” asked Dolabella eagerly.