long as she was not in our midst we felt
suffering and sick for longing. Thy presence, Cleopatra, is the most
effectual remedy, and restores us to our lost health."

Cleopatra politely lowered her fan, as if in thanks, thus rapidly
turning the stick of it in her hand, so as to make the diamonds that
were set in it sparkle and flash. Then she turned to the friends, and
said:

"Your words are most amiable, and your different ways of expressing
your meaning remind me of two gems set in a jewel, one of which
sparkles because it is skilfully cut, and reflects every light from its
mirrorlike facets, while the other shines by its genuine and intrinsic
fire. The genuine and the true are one, and the Egyptians have but one
word for both, and your kind speech, my Scipio--but I may surely venture
to call you Publius--your kind speech, my Publius seems to me to be
truer than that of your accomplished friend, which is better adapted to
vainer ears than mine. Pray, give me your hand."

The shell in which she was sitting was gently lowered, and, supported
by Publius and her husband, the queen alighted and entered the
banqueting-hall, accompanied by her guests.

As soon as the curtains were closed, and when Cleopatra had exchanged a
few whispered words with her husband, she turned again to the Roman, who
had just been joined by Eulaeus, and said:

"You have come from Athens, Publius, but you do not seem to have
followed very closely the courses of logic there, else how could it be
that you, who regard health as the highest good--that you, who declared
that you never felt so well as in my presence--should have quitted me so
promptly after the procession, and in spite of our appointment? May I be
allowed to ask what business--"

"Our noble friend," answered Eulaeus, bowing low, but not allowing the
queen to finish her speech, "would seem to have found some particular
charm in the bearded recluses of Serapis, and to be seeking among them
the key-stone of his studies at Athens."

"In that he is very right," said the queen. "For from them he can
learn to direct his attention to that third division of our existence,
concerning which least is taught in Athens--I mean the future--"

"That is in the hands of the gods," replied the Roman. "It will come
soon enough, and I did not discuss it with the anchorite. Eulaeus may be
informed that, on the contrary, everything I learned from that singular
man in the Serapeum bore reference to the