King Euergetes was pacing restlessly up and down the lofty room which his brother had furnished with particular magnificence to be his reception-room.

Hardly had the sun risen on the morning of his birthday when he had betaken himself to the temple of Ptah with a numerous suite--before his brother Philometor could set out--in order to sacrifice there, to win the good graces of the high-priest of the sanctuary, and to question of the oracle of Apis.

All had fallen out well, for the sacred bull had eaten out of his hand; and yet he would have been more glad--though it should have disdained the cake he offered it, if only Eulaeus had brought him the news that the plot against the Roman's life had been successful.
Gift after gift, addresses of congratulation from every district of the country, priestly decrees drawn up in his honor and engraved on tablets of hard stone, lay on every table or leaned against the walls of the vast ball which the guests had just quitted.

Only Hierax, the king's friend, remained with him, supporting himself, while he waited for some sign from his sovereign, on a high throne made of gold and ivory and richly decorated with gems, which had been sent to the king by the Jewish community of Alexandria.
The great commander knew his master well and knew too that it was not prudent to address him when he looked as he did now.

But Euergetes himself was aware of the need for speech, and he began, without pausing in his walk or looking at his dignified friend: "Even the Philobasilistes have proved corrupt; my soldiers in the citadel are more numerous and are better men too than those that have remained faithful to Philometor, and there ought to be nothing more for me to do but to stir up a brief clatter of swords on shields, to spring upon the throne, and to have myself proclaimed king; but I will never go into the field with the strongest division of the enemy in my rear.
My brother's head is on my sister's shoulders, and so long as I am not certain of her--" A chamberlain rushed into the room as the king spoke, and interrupted him by shouting out: "Queen Cleopatra." A smile of triumph flashed across the features of the young giant; he flung himself with an air of indifference on to a purple divan, and desired that a magnificent lyre made of ivory, and presented to him by his sister, should be brought to him; on it was carved with wonderful skill and delicacy a representation of the first marriage, that of Cadmus with Harmonia, at which all the gods had attended as guests.
Euergetes grasped the chords with wonderful vigor and mastery, and began to play a wedding march, in which eager triumph alternated with tender whisperings of love and longing.
The chamberlain, whose duty it was to introduce the queen to her brother's presence, wished to interrupt this performance of his sovereign's; but Cleopatra held him back, and stood listening at the door with her children till Euergetes had brought the air to a rapid conclusion with a petulant sweep of the strings, and a loud and ear-piercing discord; then he flung his lute on the couch and rose with well-feigned surprise, going forward to meet the queen as if, absorbed in playing, he had not heard her approach.
He greeted his sister affectionately, holding out both his hands to her, and spoke to the children--who were not afraid of him, for he knew how to play madcap games with them like a great frolicsome boy--welcoming them as tenderly as if he were their own father.
He could not weary of thanking Cleopatra for her thoughtful present--so appropriate to him, who like Cadmus longed to boast of having mastered Harmonia, and finally--she not having found a word to say--he took her by the hand to exhibit to her the presents sent him by her husband and from the provinces.