he verge of loathing.' Only necessary things, such as bread
and water, he says, possess real value; but he desires neither, because
he has even less taste for them than for the dainties which spoil a man's
morrow. Yesterday in a specially gloomy hour, he spoke of gold. This was
perhaps most worthy of desire. The mere sight of it awakened pleasant
hopes, because it might afford so many gratifications. Then he laughed
bitterly, exclaiming that those joys were the very ones which produced
the most disagreeable satiety. Even gold was not worth the trouble of
stretching out one's hand.

"He is fond of enlarging upon such fancies, and finds images to make his
meaning clear.

"'In the snow upon the highest mountain-peak the feet grow cold,' he
said. 'In the mire they are warm, but the dark mud is ugly and clings to
them.'

"Then I remarked that between the morass and the mountain-snows lie sunny
valleys where life would be pleasant; but he flew into a rage, vehemently
protesting that he would never be content with the pitiable middle course
of Horace. Then he exclaimed: 'Ay, I am vanquished. Octavianus and his
Agrippa are the conquerors; but if a rock mutilates or an elephant's
clumsy foot crushes me, I am nevertheless of a higher quality than
either.'"

"There spoke the old Mark Antony!" cried Cleopatra; but again Lucilius's
loyal heart throbbed with resentment against the woman who had fostered
the recklessness which had brought his powerful friend to ruin, and he
continued:

"But he often sees himself in a different light. 'No writer could invent
a more unworthy life than mine,' he exclaimed recently. 'A farce ending
in a tragedy.'"

Lucilius might have added still harsher sayings, but the sorrowful
expression in the tearful eyes of the afflicted Queen silenced them upon
his lips.

Yet Cleopatra's name blended with most of the words uttered by the
broken-spirited man. Sometimes it was associated with the most furious
reproaches, but more frequently with expressions of boundless delight and
wild outbursts of fervent longing, and this was what inspired Lucilius
with the hope that the Queen's influence would be effectual with his
friend. Therefore he repeated some especially ardent words, to which
Cleopatra listened with grateful joy.

Yet, when Lucilius paused, she remarked that doubtless the misanthropist
had spoken of her, and probably of Octavia also, in quite a different
way. She was prepared for the worst, for