“Enter, whoever thou art,” I said.

The latch lifted, and Cleopatra swept in, royally arrayed, her dark hair hanging about her and the sacred snake of royalty glistening on her brow.

“Of a truth, Harmachis,” she said with a sigh, as she sank into a seat, “the path to heaven is hard to climb!  Ah!  I am weary, for those stairs are many.  But I was minded, my astronomer, to see thee in thy haunts.”

“I am honoured overmuch, O Queen!” I said bowing low before her.

“Art thou now?  And yet that dark face of thine has a somewhat angry look—­thou art too young and handsome for this dry trade, Harmachis.  Why, I vow thou hast cast my wreath of roses down amidst thy rusty tools!  Kings would have cherished that wreath along with their choicest diadems, Harmachis! and thou dost throw it away as a thing of no account!  Why, what a man art thou!  But stay; what is this?  A lady’s kerchief, by Isis!  Nay, now, my Harmachis, how came this here?  Are our poor kerchiefs also instruments of thy high art?  Oh, fie, fie!—­have I caught thee, then?  Art thou indeed a fox?”

“Nay, most royal Cleopatra, nay!” I said, turning; for the kerchief which had fallen from Charmion’s neck had an awkward look.  “I know not, indeed, how the frippery came here.  Perhaps, some one of the women who keeps the chamber may have let it fall.”

“Ah! so—­so!” she said dryly, and still laughing like a rippling brook.  “Yes, surely, the slave-women who keep chambers own such toys as this, of the very finest silk, worth twice its weight in gold, and broidered, too, in many colours.  Why, myself I should not shame to wear it!  Of a truth it seems familiar to my sight.”  And she threw it round her neck and smoothed the ends with her white hand.  “But there; doubtless, it is a thing unholy in thine eyes that the scarf of thy beloved should rest upon my poor breast.  Take it, Harmachis; take it, and hide it in thy bosom—­nigh thy heart indeed!”

I took the accursed thing, and, muttering what I may not write, stepped on to the giddy platform whence I watched the stars.  Then, crushing it into a ball, I threw it to the winds of heaven.

At this the lovely Queen laughed once more.

“Nay, think now,” she cried; “what would the lady say could she see her love-gauge thus cast to all the world?  Mayhap, Harmachis, thou wouldst deal thus with my wreath also?  See, the roses fade; cast it forth,” and, stooping, she took up the wreath and gave it to me.

For a moment, so vexed was I, I had a mind to take her at her word and send the wreath to join the kerchief.  But I thought better of it.

“Nay,” I said more softly, “it is a Queen’s gift, and I will keep it,” and, as I spoke, I saw the curtain shake.  Often since that night I have sorrowed over those simple words.