“You have come from Athens, Publius, but you do not seem to have followed very closely the courses of logic there, else how could it be that you, who regard health as the highest good—­that you, who declared that you never felt so well as in my presence—­should have quitted me so promptly after the procession, and in spite of our appointment?  May I be allowed to ask what business—­”

“Our noble friend,” answered Eulaeus, bowing low, but not allowing the queen to finish her speech, “would seem to have found some particular charm in the bearded recluses of Serapis, and to be seeking among them the key-stone of his studies at Athens.”

“In that he is very right,” said the queen.  “For from them he can learn to direct his attention to that third division of our existence, concerning which least is taught in Athens—­I mean the future—­”

“That is in the hands of the gods,” replied the Roman.  “It will come soon enough, and I did not discuss it with the anchorite.  Eulaeus may be informed that, on the contrary, everything I learned from that singular man in the Serapeum bore reference to the things of the past.”

“But how can it be possible,” said Eulaeus, “that any one to whom Cleopatra had offered her society should think so long of anything else than the beautiful present?”

“You indeed have good reason,” retorted Publius quickly, “to enter the lists in behalf of the present, and never willingly to recall the past.”

“It was full of anxiety and care,” replied Eulaeus with perfect self-possession.  “That my sovereign lady must know from her illustrious mother, and from her own experience; and she will also protect me from the undeserved hatred with which certain powerful enemies seem minded to pursue me.  Permit me, your majesty, not to make my appearance at the banquet until later.  This noble gentleman kept me waiting for hours in the Serapeum, and the proposals concerning the new building in the temple of Isis at Philae must be drawn up and engrossed to-day, in order that they may be brought to-morrow before your royal husband in council and your illustrious brother Euergetes—­”

“You have leave, interrupted Cleopatra.”

As soon as Eulaeus had disappeared, the queen went closer up to Publius, and said: 

“You are annoyed with this man—­well, he is not pleasant, but at any rate he is useful and worthy.  May I ask whether you only feel his personality repugnant to you, or whether actual circumstances have given rise to your aversion—­nay, if I have judged rightly, to a very bitterly hostile feeling against him?”

“Both,” replied Publius.  “In this unmanly man, from the very first, I expected to find nothing good, and I now know that, if I erred at all, it was in his favor.  To-morrow I will ask you to spare me an hour when I can communicate to your majesty something concerning him, but which is too repulsive and sad to be suitable for telling in an evening devoted to enjoyment.  You need not be inquisitive, for they are matters that belong to the past, and which concern neither you nor me.”