The last words were addressed to Publius, who now entered the room with stately dignity, and clad in the ample folds of the white toga worn by Romans of high birth.  He held a sealed roll or despatch in his right hand, and, while he bowed respectfully to Cleopatra, he seemed entirely to overlook the hands King Euergetes held out in welcome.  After his first greeting had been disdained by the Roman, Euergetes would not have offered him a second if his life had depended on it.  He crossed his arms with royal dignity, and said: 

“I am grieved to receive your good wishes the last of all that have been offered me on this happy day.”

“Then you must have changed your mind,” replied Publius, drawing up his slight figure, which was taller than the king’s, “You have no lack of docile instruments, and last night you were fully determined to receive my first congratulations in the realm of shades.”

“My sister,” answered Euergetes, shrugging his shoulders, “was only yesterday singing the praises of your uncultured plainness of speech; but to-day it is your pleasure to speak in riddles like an Egyptian oracle.”

“They cannot, however, be difficult to solve by you and your minions,” replied Publius coldly, as he pointed to Eulaeus.  “The serpents which you command have powerful poisons and sharp fangs at their disposal; this time, however, they mistook their victim, and have sent a poor recluse of Serapis to Hades instead of one of their king’s guests.”

“Your enigma is harder than ever,” cried the king.  “My intelligence at least is unequal to solve it, and I must request you to speak in less dark language or else to explain your meaning.”

“Later, I will,” said Publius emphatically, “but these things concern myself alone, and I stand here now commissioned by the State of Rome which I serve.  To-day Juventius Thalna will arrive here as ambassador from the Republic, and this document from the Senate accredits me as its representative until his arrival.”

Euergetes took the sealed roll which Publius offered to him.  While he tore it open, and hastily looked through its contents, the door was again thrown open and Hierax, the king’s trusted friend, appeared on the threshold with a flushed face and hair in disorder.

“We have him!” he cried before he came in.  “He fell from his horse near Heliopolis.”

“Philometor?” screamed Cleopatra, flinging herself upon Hierax.  “He fell from his horse—­you have murdered him?”

The tone in which the words were said, so full of grief and horror that the general said compassionately: 

“Calm yourself, noble lady; your husband’s wound in the forehead is not dangerous.  The physicians in the great hall of the temple of the Sun bound it up, and allowed me to bring him hither on a litter.”

Without hearing Hierax to the end Cleopatra flew towards the door, but Euergetes barred her way and gave his orders with that decision which characterized him, and which forbade all contradiction: