But I sat there, a smile upon my lips, and black wrath in my heart. For, knowing who and what I was, it irked me to think myself a jest for the frivolous nobles and light beauties of Cleopatra’s Court. But I was chiefly angered against Charmion, because she laughed the loudest, and I did not then know that laughter and bitterness are often the veils with which a sore heart wraps its weakness from the world. “An omen” she said it was--that crown of flowers--and so it proved indeed. For I was fated to barter the Double Diadem of the Upper and the Lower Land for a wreath of passion’s roses that fade before they fully bloom, and Pharaoh’s ivory bed of state for the pillow of a faithless woman’s breast. “_King of Love!_” they crowned me in their mockery; ay, and King of Shame! And I, with the perfumed roses on my brow--I, by descent and ordination the Pharaoh of Egypt--thought of the imperishable halls of Abouthis and of that other crowning which on the morrow should be consummate. But still smiling, I pledged them back, and answered with a jest. For rising, I bowed before Cleopatra and craved leave to go. “Venus,” I said, speaking of the planet that we know as Donaou in the morning and Bonou in the evening, “was in the ascendant. Therefore, as new-crowned King of Love, I must now pass to do my homage to its Queen.” For these barbarians name Venus Queen of Love. And so amidst their laughter I withdrew to my watch-tower, and, dashing that shameful chaplet down amidst the instruments of my craft, made pretence to note the rolling of the stars. There I waited, thinking on many things that were to be, until Charmion should come with the last lists of the doomed and the messages of my uncle Sepa, whom she had seen that evening. At length the door opened softly, and she came jewelled and clad in her white robes, as she had left the feast. CHAPTER V OF THE COMING OF CLEOPATRA TO THE CHAMBER OF HARMACHIS; OF THE THROWING FORTH OF THE KERCHIEF OF CHARMION; OF THE STARS; AND OF THE GIFT BY CLEOPATRA OF HER FRIENDSHIP TO HER SERVANT HARMACHIS “At length thou art come, Charmion,” I said. “It is over-late.” “Yea, my Lord; but by no means could I escape Cleopatra. Her mood is strangely crossed to-night. I know not what it may portend. Strange whims and fancies blow across it like light and contrary airs upon a summer sea, and I cannot read her purpose.” “Well, well; enough of Cleopatra. Hast thou seen our uncle?” “Yes, royal Harmachis.” “And hast thou the last lists?” “Yes; here they are,” and she drew them from her bosom. “Here is the list of those who, after the Queen, must certainly be put to the sword. Among them thou wilt note is the name of that old Gaul Brennus. I grieve for him, for we are friends; but it must be. It is a heavy list.” “It is so,” I answered conning it; “when men write out their count they forget no item, and our count is long. What must be must be. Now for the next.”