“I think the Pyramids have been very thoroughly explored,” said Dr. Dean. “Nothing of any importance remains in them now.” The Princess arched her lovely eyebrows. “No? Ah! I daresay you know them better than I do!” and she laughed, a laugh which was not mirthful so much as scornful. “I am very much interested in Araxes,” said Gervase then, “partly, I suppose, because he is as yet in the happy condition of being an interred mummy. Nobody has dug him up, unwound his cerements, or photographed him, and his ornaments have not been stolen. And in the second place I am interested in him because it appears he was in love with the famous dancer of his day whom the Princess represents to-night,--Charmazel. I wish I had heard the story before I came to Cairo; I would have got myself up as Araxes in person to-night.” “In order to play the lover of Charmazel?” queried the Doctor. “Exactly!” replied Gervase with flashing eyes; “I daresay I could have acted the part.” “I should imagine you could act any part,” replied the Doctor, blandly. “The rôle of love-making comes easily to most men.” The Princess looked at him as he spoke and smiled. The jewelled scarab, set as a brooch on her bosom, flashed luridly in the moon, and in her black eyes there was a similar lurid gleam. “Come and talk to me,” she said, laying her hand on his arm; “I am tired, and the conversation of one’s ball-room partners is very _banal_. Monsieur Gervase would like me to dance all night, I imagine; but I am too lazy. I leave such energy to Lady Fulkeward and to all the English misses and madams. I love indolence.” “Most Russian women do, I think,” observed the Doctor. She laughed. “But I am not Russian!” “I know. I never thought you were,” he returned composedly; “but everyone in the hotel has come to the conclusion that you are!” “They are all wrong! What can I do to put them right?” she inquired with a fascinating little upward movement of her eyebrows. “Nothing! Leave them in their ignorance. I shall not enlighten them, though I know your nationality.” “You do?” and a curious shadow darkened her features. “But perhaps you are wrong also!” “I think not,” said the Doctor, with gentle obstinacy. “You are an Egyptian. Born in Egypt; born _of_ Egypt. Pure Eastern! There is nothing Western about you. Is not it so?” She looked at him enigmatically. “You have made a near guess,” she replied; “but you are not absolutely correct. Originally, I am of Egypt.” Dr. Dean nodded pleasantly. “Originally,--yes. That is precisely what I mean--originally! Let me take you in to supper.” He offered his arm, but Gervase made a hasty step forward. “Princess,” he began-- She waved him off lightly.