All was lost. No heroic effort could have saved the day. Antony realized it and the roar of the blood in his ears deafened him. He went on like a demented man, surrounded by threatening fists and curses. Instinct led him to the Bruchium. The approach to it was in wild disorder. His heart stood still. "The Queen! Where is the Queen?" he demanded. An agonized silence was his answer. All the javelins of presentiment were at his heart. "Cleopatra!" he cried loudly. He was heard. An officer came from the royal apartments. His face was sad. Before he could speak the lover understood. "Dead?" "Yes, with your name on her lips!" At first the dread word had no meaning. Dead! She who filled the world. Dead! Had the daylight died, could heaven or earth die? Little by little the frightful truth dawned on him. He understood that he would see her no more. It was like a command given, as though he had heard the long-expected hour strike. He went back to his tent. In these days of cowardice and treason Eros had never left his side. His brave arm had often warded off the blows aimed at the Imperator. Seeing him stagger at times, he had brought him reviving draughts. Now they were alone together. Antony controlled himself. "Come, Eros, the time is here. The Queen has set the example. Draw your sword. Let me expiate the disgrace of a defeat." The slave turned his head. His arm refused to obey. "You promised me!" "Master, do not ask the impossible. You whom I have just saved from the enemy's arrows! How can I?" "Do you want to see me ruined, humiliated?" No, Eros would not see that. He grasped his sword firmly, and spinning the blade so rapidly that it seemed to make an aureole around him, he hurled himself upon it with outstretched arms, and fell face downward, at the feet of his master. Tears rolled down Antony's hollow cheeks. "Brave Eros! You have shown me how to die," and he whirled his sword in like manner. The blow, unfortunately, had not the force of the one that killed his slave; Antony still breathed. He called, and the soldiers of his guard ran toward him. "Strike," he commanded. "Stop my sufferings!" But no one of them dared lay hands on that stately body from which such glory had shone. But Cleopatra was not dead. On hearing that the army of Octavius, meeting no resistance, was marching on Alexandria her one idea was to save herself from the invader. The mausoleum where her treasures were gathered offered a safe refuge, and there she resolved to die.