“Nay, that I am spared, O Queen,” I answered.  “The servant of the stars marks not the smaller light of woman’s eyes, and therein is he happy!”

Cleopatra leaned herself towards me, looking on me long and steadily in such fashion that, despite my will, the blood fluttered at my heart.

“Boast not, thou proud Egyptian,” she said in a low voice which none but I and Charmion could hear, “lest perchance thou dost tempt me to match my magic against thine.  What woman can forgive that a man should push us by as things of no account?  It is an insult to our sex which Nature’s self abhors,” and she leaned back again and laughed most musically.  But, glancing up, I saw Charmion, her teeth on her lip and an angry frown upon her brow.

“Pardon, royal Egypt,” I answered coldly, but with such wit as I could summon, “before the Queen of Heaven even stars grow pale!” This I said of the moon, which is the sign of the Holy Mother whom Cleopatra dared to rival, naming herself Isis come to earth.

“Happily said,” she answered, clapping her white hands.  “Why, here’s an astronomer who has wit and can shape a compliment!  Nay, such a wonder must not pass unnoted, lest the Gods resent it.  Charmion, take this rose-chaplet from my hair and set it upon the learned brow of our Harmachis.  He shall be crowned King of Love, whether he will it or not.”

Charmion lifted the chaplet from Cleopatra’s brows and, bearing it to where I was, with a smile set it upon my head yet warm and fragrant from the Queen’s hair, but so roughly that she pained me somewhat.  She did this because she was wroth, although she smiled with her lips and whispered, “An omen, royal Harmachis.”  For though she was so very much a woman, yet, when she was angered or suffered jealousy, Charmion had a childish way.

Having thus fixed the chaplet, she curtsied low before me, and with the softest tone of mockery named me, in the Greek tongue, “Harmachis, King of Love.”  Then Cleopatra laughed and pledged me as “King of Love,” and so did all the company, finding the jest a merry one.  For in Alexandria they love not those who live straitly and turn aside from women.

But I sat there, a smile upon my lips, and black wrath in my heart.  For, knowing who and what I was, it irked me to think myself a jest for the frivolous nobles and light beauties of Cleopatra’s Court.  But I was chiefly angered against Charmion, because she laughed the loudest, and I did not then know that laughter and bitterness are often the veils with which a sore heart wraps its weakness from the world.  “An omen” she said it was—­that crown of flowers—­and so it proved indeed.  For I was fated to barter the Double Diadem of the Upper and the Lower Land for a wreath of passion’s roses that fade before they fully bloom, and Pharaoh’s ivory bed of state for the pillow of a faithless woman’s breast.

“King of Love!” they crowned me in their mockery; ay, and King of Shame!  And I, with the perfumed roses on my brow—­I, by descent and ordination the Pharaoh of Egypt—­thought of the imperishable halls of Abouthis and of that other crowning which on the morrow should be consummate.