There, in the seventh story of her tower, Cleopatra was awaiting his return. When she caught the flash of his Roman eagles, amidst a cloud of dust, her heart began to throb fiercely. Unable to restrain her eagerness to see him, she ordered her litter at once. "Run quickly," she commanded her carriers, twelve Ethiopians, whose bronze legs shone as they sped swiftly over the road. The golden hawk which soared above its roof, the gorgeous purple curtains which hung at its sides, made the royal litter visible at a great distance. At the first signal of its approach, Cæsar leaped from his horse and, with the delicate chivalry which distinguished him, greeted his beloved. He had been parted from her for several days and was longing to embrace her. "Egypt is yours!" he exclaimed. "I have conquered it only to lay it at your feet. Accept it." And he handed her the keys of Alexandria which Achillas, in surrendering, had given up to him. From that hour the rebels recognized the strength of the Roman power and realized the ruin that Photinus had brought upon them. From the ambitious heights of yesterday they had fallen to the desperate depths of to-day. They who had counted on reprisals were to have only amnesties; but who could have disputed the claims of the Queen that such a magnanimous conqueror had placed upon the throne? On her first appearance in public Cleopatra was acclaimed with an enthusiasm which would have been accorded her had she been the universally-designed sovereign. Thanks to this war, which had been gained because of Cæsar's adoration, she was once more in possession of the crown of her ancestors. In order, however, to secure the good will of the people, she submitted once again to the old dynastic rule, which required children of the same parents to share the throne, and agreed to wed her younger brother, Ptolemy XIII. All being arranged to his satisfaction, it was now time for Cæsar to leave Egypt and return to Rome where his party was clamouring for him. But Cæsar was no longer his own master. Given over to that passion which, to the end of his life, was to be the mainspring of all his actions, to come before duty, ambition, self-interest, and lead to his final downfall, he delayed his departure. Deaf to the warning that each new messenger brought, he heeded only the voice of the dear enchantress who, in addition to all the other spells with which she had held him, now suggested the delight of a voyage together. In those days, as in our own, sailing along the borders of the Nile, with the monuments of the Pharaohs on either side, was a fascinating experience. Aristocrats of wealth, princes from the Orient, artists from Asia Minor and Greece--after exploring the treasures of Alexandria--alike found rare pleasure in sailing in the luxurious Egyptian barges under the smiling skies. These voyages meant weeks of restful leisure and enjoyment.