For a moment he was again silent, then he laughed loudly, and cried to the queen:
“As for you sister—your tender heart will of course bear you on the wings of love to the side of your wounded husband.”
Cleopatra’s pale cheeks had flushed scarlet at the Roman’s speech; she vouchsafed no answer to her brother’s ironical address, but advanced proudly to the door. As she passed Publius she said with a farewell wave of her pretty hand.
“We are much indebted to the Senate.”
Publius bowed low, and she, turning away from him, quitted the room.
“You have forgotten your fan, and your children!” the king called after her; but Cleopatra did not hear his words, for, once outside her brother’s apartment, all her forced and assumed composure flew to the winds; she clasped her hands on her temples, and rushed down the broad stairs of the palace as if she were pursued by fiends.
When the sound of her steps had died away, Euergetes turned to the Roman and said:
“Now, as you have fulfilled what you deem to be your duty, I beg of you to explain the meaning of your dark speeches just now, for they were addressed to Euergetes the man, and not the king. If I understood you rightly you meant to imply that your life had been attempted, and that one of those extraordinary old men devoted to Serapis had been murdered instead of you.”
“By your orders and those of your accomplice Eulaeus,” answered Publius coolly.
“Eulaeus, come here!” thundered the king to the trembling courtier, with a fearful and threatening glare in his eyes. “Have you hired murderers to kill my friend—this noble guest of our royal house—because he threatened to bring your crimes to light?”