But she went no further; Octavianus, with dignified bearing and loud, clear tones, interrupted “Whoever believes the heir of Caesar capable of shamefully deceiving a noble woman, a queen, the object of his illustrious uncle’s love, insults and wounds him; but the just anger which overmastered you may serve as your apology.  Ay,” he added in a totally different tone, “I might even have cause to be grateful for this indignation, and to wish for another opportunity to witness the outbreak of passion though in its unbridled fierceness—­the royal lioness is scarcely aware of her own beauty when the tempest of wrath sweeps her away.  What must she be when it is love that constrains the flame of her glowing soul to burst into a blaze?”

“Her glowing soul!” Cleopatra eagerly repeated, and the desire awoke to subjugate this man who had so confidently boasted of his power of resistance.  Though he might be stronger than many others, he certainly was not invincible.  And aware of her still unbroken sway over the hearts of men, her eyes sparkled with the alluring radiance of love, and a bewitching smile brightened her face.

The young Imperator’s heart began to chafe under the curb and to beat more quickly, his cheeks flushed and paled by turns.  How she gazed at him!  What if she loved the nephew as she had once loved the uncle who, through her, had learned what bliss life can offer?  Ay, it must be happiness to kiss those lips, to be clasped in those exquisite arms, to hear one’s own name tenderly spoken by those musical tones.  Even the magnificent marble statue of Ariadne, which he had seen in Athens, had not displayed to his gaze lines more beautiful than those of the woman reclining on yonder pillows.  Who could venture to speak in her presence of vanished charms?  Ah, no!  The spell which had conquered Julius Caesar was as vivid, as potent as ever.  He himself felt its power; he was young, and after such unremitting exertions he too yearned to quaff the nectar of the noblest joys, to steep body and soul in peerless bliss.

So, with a hasty movement, he took one step towards her couch, resolved to grasp her hands and raise them to his lips.  His ardent gaze answered hers; but surprised by the power which, though so heavily burdened with physical and mental suffering, she still possessed over the strongest and coldest of men, she perceived what was passing in his soul, and a smile of triumph, blended with the most bitter contempt, hovered around her beautiful lips.  Should she dupe him into granting her wishes by feigning love for the first time?  Should she yield to the man who had insulted her, in order to induce him to accord the children their rights?  Should she, to gratify her lover’s foe, relinquish the sacred grief which was drawing her after him, give posterity and her children the right to call her, instead of the most loyal of the loyal, a dishonoured woman, who sold herself for power?