“Why is your lover not with you?” repeated the girl, insisting. “Is he not with me?” “Certainly not! You know that well enough!” “True! He’s never here. Oh, Cleopatra, how cruel of you to wake me, to tell me so!” “But why is he always away?” “I see him when he chooses,” sighed Berenice, in grief. “During the day— for a minute or two.” “Did you not see him yesterday?” “Yes. I met him by the roadside. I was in my litter. He got in with me.” “As far as the Palace?” “No—not quite. He was still in sight nearly as far as the gates.” “What did you tell him?” “Oh, I was furious! I said most wicked things. Yes, darling, I did!” “Indeed?” rejoined the young girl, ironically. “Perhaps too wicked, for he never answered me. Just when I felt myself scarlet with rage, he recited a long fable for my benefit. As I did not quite understand it, I did not know how to reply. He slipped out of the litter, just as I thought of keeping him by my side. “Why not have called him back?” “I feared to displease him.” Cleopatra, swelling with indignation, took her sister by the shoulders, and looking her full in the face, spoke thus to her: “How now! You are the Queen, the people’s goddess! Half the world belongs to you; all that Rome does not rule is yours; you reign over the Nile and the entire ocean. You even reign over the heavens, since you are nearer to the ear of the Gods than anyone, and yet you cannot reign over the man you love!” “Reign . . . reign!” said Berenice, hanging her head. “That’s easy to say, but, look you, one does not reign over a lover as if dominating a slave.” “And why not, pray?” “Because . . . But you cannot understand! To love, is to prefer the happiness of another to that which we formerly selfishly desired before meeting the loved one. Should Demetrios be content, so likewise would I be, even weeping and far from his side. I wish for no delight that is not his, and all I bestow on him gives me great joy.” “You know not how to love,” said the young lass. Berenice smiled sadly, then she stretched her two arms stiffly on either side of her couch, as she jutted out her breasts and arched her loins. “Ah, little presumptuous virgin!” she sighed. “When for the first time you’ll swoon in loving conjunction, then only will you understand why one is never the queen of a man who causes you thus to lose your senses.” “A woman can always be a queen should she so will it.” “But she has no longer any power of will.” “I have! Why should you not be the same? You are my elder!” Berenice smiled again. “My little girl, upon whom do you exercise your strength of will? On which one of your dolls?” “On my lover!” said Cleopatra. Without allowing her sister time to find words to express her stupefaction, the damsel went on talking with growing vivacity.