Iras saw it, and after Barine had answered her question, “Dion’s child?” in the affirmative, with a glance beseeching forbearance, the girl drew up her slender figure, saying with arrogant coldness “What do I care for the child?  We have more important matters on our hearts.”

Then she turned to Charmian to inform her, in the tone of an official announcement, that during the approaching interview the Queen desired her attendance also.

Octavianus had appointed sunset for the interview, and it still lacked several hours of the time.  The suffering Queen felt wearied by her visit to the mausoleum, where she had implored the spirit of Antony, if he had any power over the conqueror’s heart, to induce him to release her from this torturing uncertainty and promise the children a happy fate.

To Dolabella, who had accompanied her from the tomb to the palace, she said that she expected only one thing from this meeting, and then won from him a promise which strengthened her courage and seemed the most precious boon which could be granted at this time.

She had expressed the fear that Octavianus would still leave her in doubt.  The youth spoke vehemently in Caesar’s defence, and closed with the exclamation, “If he should still keep you in suspense, he would be not only cool and circumspect—­”

“Then,” Cleopatra interrupted, “be nobler, be less cruel, and release your father’s friend from these tortures.  If he does not reveal to me what awaits me and you learn it, then—­you will not say no, you cannot refuse me—­then you, yes, you will inform me?”

Promptly and firmly came the reply:  “What have I been able to do for you until now?  But I will release you from this torture, if possible.”  Then he hastily turned his back, that he might not be compelled to see the eunuchs stationed at the palace gate search the garments of the royal captive.

His promise sustained the failing courage of the wearied, anxious Queen, and she reclined upon the cushions of a lounge to recover from the exhausting expedition; but she had scarcely closed her eyes when the pavement of the court-yard rang under the hoofs of the four horses which bore the Caesar to Lochias.  Cleopatra had not expected the visit so early.

She had just been consulting with her attendants about the best mode of receiving him.  At first she had been disposed to do so on the throne, clad in her royal attire, but she afterwards thought that she was too ill and weak to bear the heavy ornaments.  Besides, the man and successful conqueror would show himself more indulgent and gracious to the suffering woman than to the princess.

There was much to palliate the course which she had pursued in former days, and she had carefully planned the defence by which she hoped to influence his calm but not unjust nature.  Many things in her favour were contained in the letters from Caesar and Antony which, after her husband’s death, she had read again and again during so many wakeful nights, and they had just been brought to her.