“You have lived in the East?” said Miss Forrest, evidently fascinated by the strange talk.

“For the last ten years.  I spent a year in Cairo, two more up by the banks of the Nile, among the ruins of ancient cities, where, in spite of the degradation that exists, there is still to be found those who have some of the wisdom of past ages.  Four years did I live in India among the sages who hold fast to the teaching of Buddha.  The three remaining years I have spent in Arabia, Syria, and Chaldea.”

“And do you mean to say that what you have mentioned exists in reality?” said Miss Forrest.

“I have only hinted at what really exists.  I could record to you facts that are strange, beyond the imagination of Dumas; so wonderful, that afterwards you could believe the stories told by your most renowned satirist, Dean Swift.”

“Favour us with one,” I suggested.

Voltaire looked at me with his green-tinted eyes, as if he would read my innermost thoughts.  Evidently his impression of me was not favourable, for a cynical smile curled his lips, and his eyes gleamed with a steely glitter.  “One has to choose times, occasions, and proper circumstances, in order to tell such facts,” he said.  “I never speak of a sacred thing jestingly.”

We were all silent.  This man had become the centre of attraction.  Both men and women hung upon his every word.  I looked around the room and I saw a strange interest manifested, except in the face of the Egyptian.  Aba Wady Kaffar was looking at the ceiling as if calculating how many square feet there were.

“Perhaps you find it difficult to believe me,” went on Voltaire.  “The truth is, I am very unfortunate in many respects.  My way of expressing my thoughts is perhaps distasteful to you.  You see, I have lived so long in the East that I have lost much of my European training.  Then, my name is unfortunate.  Herod killed one of your Christian saints, while Voltaire was an infidel.  You English people have strong prejudices, and thus my story would be injured by the narrator.”

“Nay, Voltaire,” said Tom Temple, “we are all friendly listeners here.”

“My good host,” said Voltaire, “I am sure you are a friendly listener, but I have been telling of Eastern knowledge.  One aspect of that knowledge is that the learned can read the minds, the thoughts of those with whom they come into contact.”

The ladies began to express an intense desire to hear a story of magic and mystery, and to assure him that his name was a delightful one.

“I trust I am not the disciple of either the men whose name I bear.  Certainly I am susceptible to the influence of ladies”—­and he smiled, thereby showing his white, shining teeth—­“but I am a great admirer of honest men, whoever they may be, or whatever be their opinion.  I am not a follower of Voltaire, although I admire his genius.  He believed but little in the powers of the soul, or in the spirit world; I, on the other hand, believe it to be more real than the world in which we live.”