As shade after shade of varying emotion seemed to pass across Cleopatra's face, it was as if one saw the workings of a masterful spirit as in a mirror; and now could cry, "This is one of the Graces," and now "This is one of the Fates," as half-girlish candour and sweetness was followed by a lightning flash from the eyes, disclosing the deep, far-recessed subtleties of the soul within.

Cornelia had entered the hall haughty, defiant; a word and a look--she was the most obedient vassal.
Cornelia had seen many a splendid banquet and dinner party in Rome.
Even Oriental kings had not a great deal to teach the "masters of the toga" in ostentatious luxury.

Perhaps the queen had realized this.

The present occasion called, indeed for very little formality, for, besides Cornelia, Cleomenes was the only guest; and when that gentleman inquired politely if his Majesty, the King Ptolemaeus, was to honour them with his presence, Cleopatra replied, with an eloquent raising of the eyebrows:-- "The king will be to-night, as he always is, with his tutor--Pothinus." There was indescribable scorn in the last word.
The doors of the reception hall had been flung back on noiseless pivots by unseen hands.

The banqueting room disclosed within was not so much a room as a garden.