The spectator felt that Cleopatra had sunk down out of the fever and turmoil of her life, and for one instant--as it were, between two pulse throbs--had relinquished all activity, and was resting throughout every vein and muscle.

It was the repose of despair, indeed; for Octavius had seen her, and remained insensible to her enchantments.

But still there was a great smouldering furnace deep down in the woman's heart.

The repose, no doubt, was as complete as if she were never to stir hand or foot again; and yet, such was the creature's latent energy and fierceness, she might spring upon you like a tigress, and stop the very breath that you were now drawing midway in your throat.
The face was a miraculous success.

The sculptor had not shunned to give the full Nubian lips, and other characteristics of the Egyptian physiognomy.