She was in the act of retiring, when Gorgias, the architect, followed by an assistant carrying surveying instruments, advanced towards her.  She instantly called him to her side, and he informed her how wonderfully Fate itself seemed to favour her plan of building.  The mob had destroyed the house of the old philosopher Didymus, and the grey-haired sage, to whom he had offered the shelter of his home, was now ready to transfer the property inherited from his ancestors, if her Majesty would assure him and his family of her protection.

Then she asked to see the architect’s plan for joining the museum to the sanctuary, and became absorbed in the first sketch, to which he had devoted part of the night and morning.  He showed it, and with eager urgency Cleopatra commanded him to begin the building as soon as possible and pursue the work night and day.  What usually required months must be completed in weeks.

Iras and the “Introducer,” clad in plain garments, had waited for her in the temple court and, joined by the architect, accompanied her to the unpretending litter standing at one of the side gates but, instead of entering it, she ordered Gorgias to attend her to the garden.

The inspection proved that the architect was right and, even if the mausoleum occupied a portion of it, and the street which separated it from the Temple of Isis were continued along the shore of the sea, the remainder would still be twice as large as the one belonging to the palace at Lochias.

Cleopatra’s thorough examination showed Gorgias that she had some definite purpose in view.  Her inquiry whether it would be possible to connect it with the promontory of Lochias indicated what she had in mind, and the architect answered in the affirmative.  It was only necessary to tear down some small buildings belonging to the Crown and a little temple of Berenike at the southern part of the royal harbour.  The arm of the Agathodaemon Canal which entered here had been bridged long ago.

The new scene which would result from this change had been conjured before the Queen’s mental vision with marvellous celerity, and she described it in brief, vivid language to the architect.  The garden should remain, but must be enlarged from the Lochias to the bridge.  Thence a covered colonnade would lead to the palace.  After Gorgias had assured her that all this could easily be arranged, she gazed thoughtfully at the ground for a time, and then gave orders that the work should be commenced at once, and requested him to spare neither means nor men.

Gorgias foresaw a period of feverish toil, but it did not daunt him.  With such a master builder he was ready to roof the whole city.  Besides, the commission delighted him because it proved that the woman whose mausoleum was to rise from the earth so swiftly still thought of enhancing the pleasures of existence; for, though she wished the garden to remain unchanged, she desired to see the colonnade and the remainder of the work constructed of costly materials and in beautiful forms.  When she bade him farewell, Gorgias kissed her robe with ardent enthusiasm.