It was at Antioch again that Antony awaited Cleopatra; the same Antioch where, five years before, he had begun to dream of her beneath the cedars and the palm trees. In the evening, under the glowing sunset skies, she stood erect, beside the silken canopy, looking as though she wished to hasten the flying ship to reach him sooner. His heart throbbed; his eyes grew dim; the blood surged in his ears. It seemed that the whole sea was beating against his breast. Amidst shoutings and acclamations he conducted the fair traveller to the old palace of the Seleucides that he had prepared for her with a luxury that rivalled the splendours of the Bruchium. Alone at last, they looked at each other in silence. So many months had passed, so many things had happened since their parting that they seemed scarcely able to recognize each other. Was this the son of Bacchus, with such a troubled brow? Cleopatra, young as she was, and more beautiful than ever, bore the marks of suffering. Though her passionate mouth had the vivid red of an open pomegranate, a curve of bitterness had changed its expression. She had lost the serene look of former days. In the storm of life she had been bruised against the rocks of fate. Her heart, her royal heart, whose only dream had been to conquer, had known the humiliation of longing and of tears. At this moment, on the verge of victory, she was torn by conflicting emotions. Even as she yielded to his irresistible fascination she had the agonized thought: "Why do I still love this man who has put another woman in my place?" "What are you thinking about?" demanded Antony, almost brutally, as though he dreaded her reply. "I am thinking that you are no longer mine; that you never really loved me," she answered bitterly. "Do not say such things!" But her mind was made up. If only to show her generosity in forgiving him, she would let him see how guilty he had been. "If you had really cared, how could you have had the heart to desert me?--to betray me, after all your promises?--to leave me, as you did, sorrowful, humiliated, and alone?" Antony knelt before her, a penitent, overwhelmed with grief. He tried to prove his innocence. "I love you; I have always loved you and you only. Never, for one instant, have I loosed the bond that unites us." Cleopatra listened, but an ironical smile was on her lips. "How can you understand my difficulties? The political necessity which has controlled all my actions? You have no idea what I have suffered." But she would not be convinced. "If you had really loved me----" Antony stopped her. He leaped to his feet like a young Hercules, threw his arms around her, and pressed his quivering lips to her own. "Forgive me! Only say that you forgive me!" he pleaded. She was beginning to yield but turned away, with a last effort to make him believe that she was impervious to his prayers.