“To deep thinking and subtle drinking!” retorted the person thus addressed, while he raised the cup, looked into the wine with his twinkling eyes and lifted it slowly to his nose—­a long, well-formed and slightly aquiline nose—­and to his thin lips.

“Oh!  Aristarchus,” exclaimed Euergetes, and he frowned.  “You please me better when you clear up the meaning of your poets and historians than when you criticise the drinking-maxims of a king.  Subtle drinking is mere sipping, and sipping I leave to the bitterns and other birds that live content among the reeds.  Do you understand me?  Among reeds, I say--whether cut for writing, or no.”

“By subtle drinking,” replied the great critic with perfect indifference, as he pushed the thin, gray hair from his high brow with his slender hand.  “By subtle drinking I mean the drinking of choice wine, and did you ever taste anything more delicate than this juice of the vines of Anthylla that your illustrious brother has set before us?  Your paradoxical axiom commends you at once as a powerful thinker and as the benevolent giver of the best of drinks.”

“Happily turned,” exclaimed Cleopatra, clapping her hands, “you here see, Publius, a proof of the promptness of an Alexandrian tongue.”

“Yes!” said Euergetes, “if men could go forth to battle with words instead of spears the masters of the Museum in Alexander’s city, with Aristarchus at their head, they might rout the united armies of Rome and Carthage in a couple of hours.”

“But we are not now in the battle-field but at a peaceful meal,” said the king, with suave amiability.  “You did in fact overhear our secret Euergetes, and mocked at my faithful Egyptians, in whose place I would gladly set fair Greeks if only Alexandria still belonged to me instead of to you.—­However, a splendid procession shall not be wanting at your birthday festival.”

“And do you really still take pleasure in these eternal goose-step performances?” asked Euergetes, stretching himself out on his couch, and folding his hands to support the back of his head.  “Sooner could I accustom myself to the delicate drinking of Aristarchus than sit for hours watching these empty pageants.  On two conditions only can I declare myself ready and willing to remain quiet, and patiently to dawdle through almost half a day, like an ape in a cage:  First, if it will give our Roman friend Publius Cornelius Scipio any pleasure to witness such a performance—­though, since our uncle Antiochus pillaged our wealth, and since we brothers shared Egypt between us, our processions are not to be even remotely compared to the triumphs of Roman victors—­or, secondly, if I am allowed to take an active part in the affair.”

“On my account, Sire,” replied Publius, “no procession need be arranged, particularly not such a one as I should here be obliged to look on at.”

“Well!  I still enjoy such things,” said Cleopatra’s husband.  “Well-arranged groups, and the populace pleased and excited are a sight I am never tired of.”