Then she had gone into the garden, embraced and kissed the children, and entreated them to remember her tenderly.  Her purpose had not been concealed from Archibius, but Charmian had told him the menace of the future, and he approved her decision.  By the exertion of all his innate strength of will, he succeeded in concealing the grief which rent his faithful heart.  She must die.  The thought of seeing her adorn the triumphal procession of Octavianus was unbearable to him also.  Her thanks and entreaties to be an affectionate guardian to the children were received with an external calmness which afterwards seemed to him utterly incomprehensible.

When she spoke of her approaching meeting with her lover, he asked whether she had entirely abandoned the teachings of Epicurus, who believed that death absolutely ended existence.

Cleopatra eagerly assented, saying:  “Absence of pain has ceased to appear to me the chief earthly blessing, since I have known that love does not bring pleasure only, since I have learned that pain is the inseparable companion of love.  I will not give it up, nor will I part from my lover.  Whoever experiences what fate has allotted to me has learned to know other gods than those whom the master described as dwelling happily in undisturbed repose.  Rather eternal torture in another world, united to the man I love, than painless, joyless mere existence in a desolate, incomprehensible, unknown region!  You will be the last to teach the children to yearn for freedom from pain—­”

“Because, like you,” cried Archibius, “I have learned how great a blessing is love, and that love is pain.”

As he spoke he bent over her hand to kiss it, but she took his temples between her hands and, bending hastily, pressed her lips on his broad brow.

Then his self-control vanished, and, sobbing aloud, he hurried back to the children.

Cleopatra gazed after him with a sorrowful smile, and leaning on Charmian’s arm, she entered the palace.

There she was bathed and, robed in costly mourning garments, reclined among her cushions to take breakfast, which was usually served at this hour.  Iras and Charmian shared it.

When dessert was carried in, the Nubian brought a basket filled with delicious figs.  A peasant, she told Epaphroditus, who was watching the meal, had given them to her because they were so remarkably fine.  Some had already been snatched by the guards.

The Queen and her companions ate a little of the fruit, and Proculejus, who had come to greet Cleopatra, was also persuaded to taste one of the finest figs.

At the end of the meal Cleopatra wished to rest.  The Roman gentlemen and the guards retired.  At last the women were alone, and gazed at each other silently.

Charmian timidly lifted the upper layer of the fruit, but the Queen said mournfully: 

“The wife of Antony dragged through the streets of Rome behind the victor’s chariot, a spectacle for the populace and envious matrons!” Then, starting up, she exclaimed:  “What a thought!  Was it too great for Octavianus, or too petty?  He who so loudly boasts his knowledge of mankind expects this impossibility from the woman who revealed her inmost soul to him as fully as he concealed his from her.  We will show him how small is his comprehension of human nature, and teach him modesty.”