easily in your gay palace than he can in the gloomy temple of Serapis."

At these words the king struck his forehead with his hand, exclaiming:
"Oh! to be a king--a man who is a match for any ten! and to be obliged to
submit with a patient shrug like a peasant whose grain my horsemen crush
into the ground!

"He can spoil everything; mar all my plans and thwart all my desires--and
I can do nothing but clench my fist, and suffocate with rage. But this
fuming and groaning are just as unavailing as my raging and cursing by
the death-bed of my mother, who was dead all the same and never got up
again.

"If this Publius were a Greek, a Syrian, an Egyptian--nay, were he my own
brother--I tell you, Eulaeus, he should not long stand in my way; but he
is plenipotentiary from Rome, and Rome is Fate--Rome is Fate."

The king flung himself back on to his cushions with a deep sigh, and as
if crushed with despair, hiding his face in the soft pillows; but Eulaeus
crept noiselessly up to the young giant, and whispered in his ear with
solemn deliberateness:

"Rome is Fate, but even Rome can do nothing against Fate. Publius Scipio
must die because he is ruining your mother's daughter, and stands in the
way of your saving Egypt. The Senate would take a terrible revenge if he
were murdered, but what can they do if wild beasts fall on their
plenipotentiary, and tear him to pieces?"

"Grand! splendid!" cried Euergetes, springing again to his feet, and
opening his large eyes with radiant surprise and delight, as if heaven