Octavianus had made towards her, his eyes aflame with love, gave her the
right to feel that she had vanquished the victor, and the proud delight
of triumph was too plainly reflected in her mobile features to escape the
penetrating, distrustful gaze of the subjugated Caesar.

But he had scarcely perceived what threatened him, and remembered her
words concerning his famous uncle's surrender only to her and to death,
when he succeeded in conquering his quickly kindled senses. Blushing at
his own weakness, he averted his eyes from the Queen, and when he met
those of Proculejus and the other witnesses of the scene, he realized the
abyss on whose verge he stood. He had half succumbed to the danger of
losing, by a moment's weakness, the fruit of great sacrifices and severe
exertions.

His expressive eyes, which had just rested rapturously upon a beautiful
woman, now scanned the spectators with the stern glance of a monarch and,
apparently wishing to moderate an excess of flattering recognition which
might be misinterpreted, he said in an almost pedagogical tone:

"Yet we would rather see the noble lioness in the majestic repose which
best suits all sovereigns. It is difficult for a calm, deliberate nature
like mine to understand an ardent, quickly kindling heart."

Cleopatra had watched this sudden transition with more surprise than
disappointment. Octavianus had half surrendered to her, but recovered
his self-command in time, and a man of his temperament does not readily
succumb twice to a danger which he barely escaped. And this was well!
He should learn that he had misunderstood the glance which fired his
heart; so she answered distantly, with majestic dignity: