“There!” she cried, “at length the farce is played—­away with those slaves whom I have forced through the difficult gates of Joy!” and she clapped her hands.  But when they had borne the bodies thence she drew me to her, and spoke thus: 

“Olympus, for all thy prophecies, the end is at hand.  Caesar must conquer, and I and my Lord Antony be lost.  Now, therefore, the play being wellnigh done, I must make ready to leave this stage of earth in such fashion as becomes a Queen.  For this cause, then, I do make trial of these poisons, seeing that in my person I must soon endure those agonies of death that to-day I give to others.  These drugs please me not; some wrench out the soul with cruel pains, and some too slowly work their end.  But thou art skilled in the medicines of death.  Now, do thou prepare me such a draught as shall, pangless, steal my life away.”

And as I listened the sense of triumph filled my bitter heart, for I knew now that by my own hand should this ruined woman die and the justice of the Gods be done.

“Spoken like a Queen, O Cleopatra!” I said.  “Death shall cure thy ills, and I will brew such a wine as shall draw him down a sudden friend and sink thee in a sea of slumber whence, upon this earth, thou shalt never wake again.  Oh! fear not Death:  Death is thy hope; and, surely, thou shalt pass sinless and pure of heart into the dreadful presence of the Gods!”

She trembled.  “And if the heart be not altogether pure, tell me—­thou dark man—­what then?  Nay, I fear not the Gods! for if the Gods of Hell be men, there I shall Queen it also.  At the least, having once been royal, royal I shall ever be.”

And, as she spoke, suddenly from the palace gates came a great clamour, and the noise of joyful shouting.

“Why, what is this?” she said, springing from her couch.

“Antony!  Antony!” rose the cry; “Antony hath conquered!”

She turned swiftly and ran, her long hair streaming on the wind.  I followed her, more slowly, down the great hall, across the courtyards, to the palace gates.  And here she met Antony, riding through them, radiant with smiles and clad in his Roman armour.  When he saw her he leapt to the ground, and, all armed as he was, clasped her to his breast.

“What is it?” she cried; “is Caesar fallen?”

“Nay, not altogether fallen, Egypt:  but we have beat his horsemen back to their trenches, and, like the beginning, so shall be the end, for, as they say here, ‘Where the head goes, the tail will follow.’  Moreover, Caesar has my challenge, and if he will but meet me hand to hand, the world shall soon see which is the better man, Antony or Octavian.”  And even as he spoke and the people cheered there came the cry of “A messenger from Caesar!”

The herald entered, and, bowing low, gave a writing to Antony, bowed again, and went.  Cleopatra snatched it from his hand, broke the silk and read aloud: