To all these questions came a prompt denial.  The single stride which Octavianus had made towards her, his eyes aflame with love, gave her the right to feel that she had vanquished the victor, and the proud delight of triumph was too plainly reflected in her mobile features to escape the penetrating, distrustful gaze of the subjugated Caesar.

But he had scarcely perceived what threatened him, and remembered her words concerning his famous uncle’s surrender only to her and to death, when he succeeded in conquering his quickly kindled senses.  Blushing at his own weakness, he averted his eyes from the Queen, and when he met those of Proculejus and the other witnesses of the scene, he realized the abyss on whose verge he stood.  He had half succumbed to the danger of losing, by a moment’s weakness, the fruit of great sacrifices and severe exertions.

His expressive eyes, which had just rested rapturously upon a beautiful woman, now scanned the spectators with the stern glance of a monarch and, apparently wishing to moderate an excess of flattering recognition which might be misinterpreted, he said in an almost pedagogical tone: 

“Yet we would rather see the noble lioness in the majestic repose which best suits all sovereigns.  It is difficult for a calm, deliberate nature like mine to understand an ardent, quickly kindling heart.”

Cleopatra had watched this sudden transition with more surprise than disappointment.  Octavianus had half surrendered to her, but recovered his self-command in time, and a man of his temperament does not readily succumb twice to a danger which he barely escaped.  And this was well!  He should learn that he had misunderstood the glance which fired his heart; so she answered distantly, with majestic dignity: 

“Misery such as mine quenches all ardour.  And love?  Woman’s heart is ever open to it, save where it has lost the desire for power and pleasure.  You are young and happy, therefore your soul still yearns for love—­I know that—­though not for mine.  To me, on the contrary, one suitor only is welcome, he with the lowered torch, whom you keep aloof from me.  With him alone is to be found the boon for which this soul has longed from childhood—­painless peace!  You smile.  My past gives you the right to do so.  I will not lessen it.  Each individual lives his or her own life.  Few understand the changes of their own existence, far less those of a stranger’s.  The world has witnessed how Peace fled from my path, or I from hers, and yet I see the possibility of finding the way.  I am safe from the only things which would debar me from those joys —­humiliation and disgrace.”  Here she hesitated; then, as if in explanation, continued in the sweetest tones at her command:  “Your generosity, I think, will guard from these two foes the woman whom just now—­I did not fail to see it—­you considered worthy of a more than gracious glance.  I shall treasure it among memories which will never fade.  But now, illustrious Imperator! tell me, what is your decision concerning me and the children?  What may we hope from your favour?”