Robert Irwin of Japan and his sister Maisie, who were at Shepheard’s, added much to the pleasure of our stay. We made many excursions together, among others the ascent of the great pyramid. To each of our party the Sheikh of the desert Bedouins allotted two Arabs. My men, Hassan and Osman, two superb bronze figures, each gripped me by an arm and practically swung me up from tier to tier of the huge blocks. One of our party seemed bent on making record time; he made no pause, and seemed to fly up those awful steps. When the rest of us reached the top this friend lay gasping flat on his back. “Those Bedouins tried to kill me,” he murmured; “I kept calling ‘_yaller!_’ ‘_yaller!_’ and the more I ‘yallered’ the faster they ran.” “You used the wrong word; you should have said ‘_shwaiyer!_’ ‘_Yaller_’ means faster!” Mahomet, the dragoman, explained. We lunched luxuriously on the summit of the great pyramid, on roast quail, fresh rolls, and _pâté de foie gras_! The wilted one was restored with iced champagne. “Do not let us hurry down,” said the eldest of the party. “I, for one, shall never again get to the top of Cheops.” So we lingered, watching the changing color of the Mokatten hills, the yellow sands of the desert, the immutable face of the Sphinx till the sky blazed with Egypt’s sublime sunset. We came again to the Sphinx by starlight. Out there in the desert the constellations seemed nearer than ever before; Venus hung low, as if suspended by a thread from the heavens, her reflection in the Nile a full golden orb. Last and best of all we came on the night of the full moon to take farewell, and each of us tried to guess the ancient riddle. The Sphinx is drowsy, Her wings are furled: Her ear is heavy, She broods on the world. Who’ll tell me my secret, The ages have kept? One morning, “dressed in our best”, we three, my mother, my cousin, and I, drove in Stone Pasha’s carriage behind those flying _sais_ to Abdin Palace, where the General had arranged an audience with the three Princesses, the Khedive’s royal wives. Outside the entrance was a guard of black eunuchs, dreadful creatures with animal faces, dull-eyed, and gross. Inside, the lofty entrance hall was ablaze with color. We were welcomed by a group of rainbow-clad girls. “_Naharak said!_” they exclaimed, “May thy day be happy!” “_Naharak leben!_” we answered, “May thy day be as white as milk!” “Accept whatever is offered; to refuse is an insult.” This had been Mahomet’s last advice, as he left us to fend for ourselves in the harem of the Khedive. A slender brown girl with almond eyes and henna-tipped fingers handed me a jeweled cup. “_Taffadali_,” she said, “I beg you to take.” I tasted the delicious sherbet and was about to drain the cup when my odalisque hastily took it from me and handed it to my cousin; it was meant for all of us!