“He had sent to excuse himself,” replied the king as he scratched the poll of Cleopatra’s parrot, parting its feathers with the tips of his fingers.  “Lysias, the Corinthian, is sitting below, and he says he does not know where his friend can be gone.”

“But we know very well,” said Euergetes, casting an ironical glance at the queen.  “It is pleasant to be with Philometor and Cleopatra, but better still with Eros and Hebe.  Sister, you look pale—­shall I call for Zoe?”

Cleopatra shook her head in negation, but she dropped into a seat, and sat stooping, with her head bowed over her knees as if she were dreadfully tired.  Euergetes turned his back on her, and spoke to his brother of indifferent subjects, while she drew lines, some straight and some crooked, with her fan-stick through the pile of the soft rug on the floor, and sat gazing thoughtfully at her feet.  As she sat thus her eye was caught by her sandals, richly set with precious stones, and the slender toes she had so often contemplated with pleasure; but now the sight of them seemed to vex her, for in obedience to a swift impulse she loosened the straps, pushed off her right sandal with her left foot, kicked it from her, and said, turning to her husband: 

“It is late and I do not feel well, and you may sup without me.”

“By the healing Isis!” exclaimed Philometor, going up to her.  “You look suffering.  Shall I send for the physicians?  Is it really nothing more than your usual headache?  The gods be thanked!  But that you should be unwell just to-day!  I had so much to say to you; and the chief thing of all was that we are still a long way from completeness in our preparations for our performance.  If this luckless Hebe were not—­”

“She is in good hands,” interrupted Euergetes.  “The Roman, Publius Scipio, has taken her to a place of safety; perhaps in order to present her to me to morrow morning in return for the horses from Cyrene which I sent him to-day.  How brightly your eyes sparkle, sister—­with joy no doubt at this good idea.  This evening, I dare say he is rehearsing the little one in her part that she may perform it well to-morrow.  If we are mistaken—­if Publius is ungrateful and proposes keeping the dove, then Thais, your pretty Athenian waiting-woman, may play the part of Hebe.  What do you think of that suggestion, Cleopatra?”

“That I forbid such jesting with me!” cried the queen vehemently.  “No one has any consideration for me—­no one pities me, and I suffer fearfully!  Euergetes scorns me—­you, Philometor, would be glad to drag me down!  If only the banquet is not interfered with, and so long as nothing spoils your pleasure!—­Whether I die or no, no one cares!”

With these words the queen burst into tears, and roughly pushed away her husband as he endeavored to soothe her.  At last she dried her eyes, and said:  “Go down-the guests are waiting.”