the treasures, in a word, for the lack of which contemporary dissertations are poor laughable things.  Believe me, he is well avenged, the little universitarian whom they took for a madman, whom they defied.  I have lived, I live, I shall live in a perpetual burst of laughter at their false and garbled erudition.  And when I shall be dead, Error,—­thanks to the jealous precaution of Neptune taken to isolate his well-beloved Clito from the rest of the world,—­Error, I say, will continue to reign as sovereign mistress over their pitiful compositions.”

“Sir,” said Morhange in grave voice, “you have just affirmed the influence of Egypt on the civilizations of the people here.  For reasons which some day, perhaps, I shall have occasion to explain to you, I would like to have proof of that relationship.”

“We need not wait for that, sir,” said M. Le Mesge.  Then, in my turn, I advanced.

“Two words, if you please, sir,” I said brutally.  “I will not hide from you that these historical discussions seem to me absolutely out of place.  It is not my fault if you have had trouble with the University, and if you are not to-day at the College of France or elsewhere.  For the moment, just one thing concerns me:  to know just what this lady, Antinea, wants with us.  My comrade would like to know her relation with ancient Egypt:  very well.  For my part, I desire above everything to know her relations with the government of Algeria and the Arabian Bureau.”

M. Le Mesge gave a strident laugh.

“I am going to give you an answer that will satisfy you both,” he replied.

And he added: 

“Follow me.  It is time that you should learn.”

X

THE RED MARBLE HALL

We passed through an interminable series of stairs and corridors following M. Le Mesge.

“You lose all sense of direction in this labyrinth,” I muttered to Morhange.

“Worse still, you will lose your head,” answered my companion sotto voce.  “This old fool is certainly very learned; but God knows what he is driving at.  However, he has promised that we are soon to know.”

M. Le Mesge had stopped before a heavy dark door, all incrusted with strange symbols.  Turning the lock with difficulty, he opened it.

“Enter, gentlemen, I beg you,” he said.

A gust of cold air struck us full in the face.  The room we were entering was chill as a vault.

At first, the darkness allowed me to form no idea of its proportions.  The lighting, purposely subdued, consisted of twelve enormous copper lamps, placed column-like upon the ground and burning with brilliant red flames.  As we entered, the wind from the corridor made the flames flicker, momentarily casting about us our own enlarged and misshapen shadows.  Then the gust died down, and the flames, no longer flurried, again licked up the darkness with their motionless red tongues.