“And your answer?” cried Cleopatra, panting for breath and gazing at him with eyes full of expectation.

“Must I repeat it?” he asked with impatient haste.  “Very well, then.  In return for implicit confidence on your part, favour, forgiveness, cordiality, every consideration which you can justly desire.  Your heart is so rich in warmth of feeling, grant me but a small share of it and ask tangible gifts in return.  They are already bestowed.”  Then greeting her like a friend who is reluctant to say farewell, he hastily left the apartment.

“Gone—­gone!” cried Iras as the door closed behind him.  “An eel that slips from the hand which strives to hold him.”

“Northern ice,” added Cleopatra gloomily as Charmian aided her to find a more comfortable position.  “As smooth as it is cold; there is nothing more to hope.”

“Yes, my royal mistress, yes,” Iras eagerly protested.  “Dolabella is waiting for him in the Philadelphus court-yard.  From him—­you have his promise—­we shall learn what Octavianus has in store for you.”

In truth, the Caesar did find the youth at the first gate of the palace, inspecting his superb Cyrenean horses.

“Magnificent animals!” cried Octavianus; “a gift from the city!  Will you drive with me?—­A remarkable, a very remarkable woman!”

“Isn’t she?” asked Dolabella eagerly.

“Undoubtedly,” replied the Caesar.  “But though she might almost be your mother, an uncommonly dangerous one for youths of your age.  What a melting voice, what versatility, what fervour!  And yet such regal grace in every movement!  But I wish to stifle, not to fan, the spark which perhaps has already fallen into your heart.  And the play, the farce which she just enacted before me in the midst of most serious matters!”

He uttered a low, short laugh; but Dolabella exclaimed expectantly:  “You rarely laugh, but this conversation—­apparently—­excites your mirth.  So the result was satisfactory?”

“Let us hope so.  I was as gracious to her as possible.”

“That is delightful.  May I know in what manner your kindness and wisdom have shaped her future?  Or, rather, what did you promise the vanquished Queen?”

“My favour, if she will trust me.”

“Proculejus and I will continue to strengthen her confidence.  And if we succeed—?”

“Then, as I have said, she will have my favour—­a generous abundance of favour.”

“But her future destiny?  What fate will you bestow on her and her children?”

“Whatever the degree of her confidence deserves.”

Here he hesitated, for he met Dolabella’s earnest, troubled gaze, which was blended with a shade of reproach.