“I will not see my husband now!  Go, Thais, and tell the eunuchs on the steps, that I beg Philometor not to disturb me just now.  Go on, Zoe.”

Ten more psalms had been read, and a few verses repeated twice or thrice by Cleopatra’s desire, when the pretty Athenian returned with flaming cheeks, and said in an excited tone: 

“It is not your husband, the king, but your brother Euergetes, who asks to speak with you.”

“He might have chosen some other hour,” replied Cleopatra, looking round at her maid.  Thais cast down her eyes, and twitched the edge of her robe between her fingers as she addressed her mistress; but the queen, whom nothing could escape that she chose to see, and who was not to-day in the humor for laughing or for letting any indiscretion escape unreproved, went on at once in an incensed and cutting tone, raising her voice to a sharp pitch: 

“I do not choose that my messengers should allow themselves to be detained, be it by whom it may—­do you hear!  Leave Me this instant and go to your room, and stay there till I want you to undress me this evening.  Andromeda—­do you hear, old woman?—­you can bring my brother to me, and he will let you return quicker than Thais, I fancy.  You need not leer at yourself in the glass, you cannot do anything to alter your wrinkles.  My head-dress is already done.  Give me that linen wrapper, Olympias, and then he may come!  Why, there he is already!  First you ask permission, brother, and then disdain to wait till it is given you.”

“Longing and waiting,” replied Euergetes, “are but an ill-assorted couple.  I wasted this evening with common soldiers and fawning flatterers; then, in order to see a few noble countenances, I went into the prison, after that I hastily took a bath, for the residence of your convicts spoils one’s complexion more, and in a less pleasant manner, than this little shrine, where everything looks and smells like Aphrodite’s tiring-room; and now I have a longing to hear a few good words before supper-time comes.”

“From my lips?” asked Cleopatra.

“There are none that can speak better, whether by the Nile or the Ilissus.”

“What do you want of me?”

“I—­of you?”

“Certainly, for you do not speak so prettily unless you want something.”

“But I have already told you!  I want to hear you say something wise, something witty, something soul-stirring.”

“We cannot call up wit as we would a maid-servant.  It comes unbidden, and the more urgently we press it to appear the more certainly it remains away.”

“That may be true of others, but not of you who, even while you declare that you have no store of Attic salt, are seasoning your speech with it.  All yield obedience to grace and beauty, even wit and the sharp-tongued Momus who mocks even at the gods.”

“You are mistaken, for not even my own waiting-maids return in proper time when I commission them with a message to you.”