CAESAR (_with quiet authority_). Go to the balcony; and you shall see us take the Pharos. You must learn to look on battles. Go. (_She goes, downcast, and looks out from the balcony._) That is well. Now, Rufio. March. CLEOPATRA (_suddenly clapping her hands_). Oh, you will not be able to go! CAESAR. Why? What now? CLEOPATRA. They are drying up the harbor with buckets--a multitude of soldiers--over there (_pointing out across the sea to her left_)--they are dipping up the water. RUFIO (_hastening to look_). It is true. The Egyptian army! Crawling over the edge of the west harbor like locusts. (_With sudden anger he strides down to Caesar._) This is your accursed clemency, Caesar. Theodotus has brought them. CAESAR (_delighted at his own cleverness_). I meant him to, Rufio. They have come to put out the fire. The library will keep them busy whilst we seize the lighthouse. Eh? (_He rushes out buoyantly through the loggia, followed by Britannus._) RUFIO (_disgustedly_). More foxing! Agh! (_He rushes off. A shout from the soldiers announces the appearance of Caesar below._) CENTURION (_below_). All aboard. Give way there. (_Another shout._) CLEOPATRA (_waving her scarf through the loggia arch_). Goodbye, goodbye, dear Caesar. Come back safe. Goodbye! ACT III _The edge of the quay in front of the palace, looking out west over the east harbor of Alexandria to Pharos island, just off the end of which, and connected with it by a narrow mole, is the famous lighthouse, a gigantic square tower of white marble diminishing in size storey by storey to the top, on which stands a cresset beacon. The island is joined to the main land by the Heptastadium, a great mole or causeway five miles long bounding the harbor on the south._ _In the middle of the quay a Roman sentinel stands on guard, pilum in hand, looking out to the lighthouse with strained attention, his left hand shading his eyes. The pilum is a stout wooden shaft 4½ feet long, with an iron spit about three feet long fixed in it. The sentinel is so absorbed that he does not notice the approach from the north end of the quay of four Egyptian market porters carrying rolls of carpet, preceded by Ftatateeta and Apollodorus the Sicilian. Apollodorus is a dashing young man of about 24, handsome and debonair, dressed with deliberate æstheticism in the most delicate purples and dove greys, with ornaments of bronze, oxydized silver, and stones of jade and agate. His sword, designed as carefully as a medieval cross, has a blued blade showing through an openwork scabbard of purple leather and filagree. The porters, conducted by Ftatateeta, pass along the quay behind the sentinel to the steps of the palace, where they put down their bales and squat on the ground. Apollodorus does not pass along with them: he halts, amused by the preoccupation of the sentinel._ APOLLODORUS (_calling to the sentinel_). Who goes there, eh?