FTATATEETA. You are my nursling. You have said "So be it"; and if you die for it, you must make the Queen's word good. (_She hands Cleopatra to Caesar, who takes her back, almost beside herself with apprehension, to the throne._) CAESAR. Now, if you quail--! (_He seats himself on the throne._) _She stands on the step, all but unconscious, waiting for death. The Roman soldiers troop in tumultuously through the corridor, headed by their ensign with his eagle, and their bucinator, a burly fellow with his instrument coiled round his body, its brazen bell shaped like the head of a howling wolf. When they reach the transept, they stare in amazement at the throne; dress into ordered rank opposite it; draw their swords and lift them in the air with a shout of_ Hail, Caesar. _Cleopatra turns and stares wildly at Caesar; grasps the situation; and, with a great sob of relief, falls into his arms._ ACT II _Alexandria. A hall on the first floor of the Palace, ending in a loggia approached by two steps. Through the arches of the loggia the Mediterranean can be seen, bright in the morning sun. The clean lofty walls, painted with a procession of the Egyptian theocracy, presented in profile as flat ornament, and the absence of mirrors, sham perspectives, stuffy upholstery and textiles, make the place handsome, wholesome, simple and cool, or, as a rich English manufacturer would express it, poor, bare, ridiculous and unhomely. For Tottenham Court Road civilization is to this Egyptian civilization as glass bead and tattoo civilization is to Tottenham Court Road._