Posterity, whose verdict she dreaded—­this wise old reader of the future was right—­must extol her as the most fervently beloved, the most desirable of women.

And Mark Antony?  Even had the magic power of Nektanebus’s goblet forced him to follow her and to leave the battle, there still remained his will, a copy of which—­received from Rome—­Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, had showed to her at the close of the council.  “Wherever he might die,” so ran the words, “he desired to be buried by the side of Cleopatra.”  Octavianus had wrested it from the Vestal Virgins, to whose care it had been entrusted, in order to fill the hearts of Roman citizens and matrons with indignation against his foe.  The plot had succeeded, but the document had reminded Cleopatra that her heart had given this man the first of its flowers, that love for him had been the sunshine of her life.  So, with head erect, she had crossed the threshold where she was to meet the woman who had ventured to sow tares in her garden.  She intended to devote only a short time to the interview, which she anticipated with the satisfaction of the strong who are confident of victory.

As she approached the throne, her train left the hall; the only persons who remained were Charmian, Iras, Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, and the “introducer.”

Cleopatra cast a rapid glance at the throne, to which an obsequious gesture of the courtier’s hand invited her; but she remained standing, gazing keenly at Barine.

Was it the coloured rays from the ruby eyes of the dragon in the fireplace which shed the roseate glow on Cleopatra’s cheeks?  It certainly enhanced the beauty of a face now only too frequently pallid and colourless, when rouge did not lend its aid; but Barine understood Archibius’s ardent admiration for this rare woman, when Cleopatra, with a faint smile, requested her to approach.

Nothing more winning could be imagined than the frank kindness, wholly untinged by condescending pride, of this powerful sovereign.

The less Barine had expected such a reception the more deeply it moved her; nay, her eyes grew dim with grateful emotion, which lent them so beautiful a lustre, she looked so lovely in her glad surprise, that Cleopatra thought the months which had elapsed since her first meeting with the singer had enhanced her charms.  And how young she was!  The Queen swiftly computed the years which Barine must have lived as the wife of Philostratus, and afterwards as the attractive mistress of a hospitable house, and found it difficult to reconcile the appearance of this blooming young creature with the result of the calculation.

She was surprised, too, to note the aristocratic bearing whose possession no one could deny the artist’s daughter.  This was apparent even in her dress, yet Iras had roused her in the middle of the night, and certainly had given her no time for personal adornment.