“And now?” asked Cleopatra.  “What information is he giving to the Egyptians?”

The chamberlain hastened towards Euergetes’ couch, and soon returned to the queen—­who meanwhile had exchanged a few friendly words with Onias, the Hebrew commander—­and informed her in a low tone that the king was interpreting a passage from the Timaeus of Plato, in which Solon celebrates the lofty wisdom of the priests of Sais; he was speaking with much spirit, and the Egyptians received it with loud applause.

Cleopatra’s countenance darkened more and more, but she concealed it behind her fan, signed to Philometor to approach, and whispered to him: 

“Keep near Euergetes; he has a great deal too much to say to the Egyptians.  He is extremely anxious to stand well with them, and those whom he really desires to please are completely entrapped by his portentous amiability.  He has spoiled my evening, and I shall leave you to yourselves.”

“Till to-morrow, then.”

“I shall hear the Roman’s complaint up on my roof-terrace; there is always a fresh air up there.  If you wish to be present I will send for you, but first I would speak to him alone, for he has received letters from the Senate which may contain something of importance.  So, till to-morrow.”

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     Behold, the puny Child of Man
     Evolution and annihilation
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     Hold pleasure to be the highest good
     Man is the measure of all things
     Museum of Alexandria and the Library
     One hand washes the other
     Prefer deeds to words
     What are we all but puny children?

THE SISTERS

By Georg Ebers

Volume 3.

CHAPTER XII.

While, in the vast peristyle, many a cup was still being emptied, and the carousers were growing merrier and noisier—­while Cleopatra was abusing the maids and ladies who were undressing her for their clumsiness and unreadiness, because every touch hurt her, and every pin taken out of her dress pricked her—­the Roman and his friend Lysias walked up and down in their tent in violent agitation.

“Speak lower,” said the Greek, “for the very griffins woven into the tissue of these thin walls seem to me to be lying in wait, and listening.

“I certainly was not mistaken.  When I came to fetch the gems I saw a light gleaming in the doorway as I approached it; but the intruder must have been warned, for just as I got up to the lantern in front of the servants’ tent, it disappeared, and the torch which usually burns outside our tent had not been lighted at all; but a beam of light fell on the road, and a man’s figure slipped across in a black robe sprinkled with gold ornaments which I saw glitter as the pale light of the lantern fell upon them—­just as a slimy, black newt glides through a pool.  I have good eyes as you know, and I will give one of them at this moment, if I am mistaken, and if the cat that stole into our tent was not Eulaeus.”