Cleopatra plunged her hand into the dead breast and drew forth somewhat.  She held it to the light, and gave a little cry, for from the darkness of Pharaoh’s heart there flashed into light and life the most beauteous emerald that ever man beheld.  It was perfect in colour, very large, without a flaw, and fashioned to a scarabaeus form, and on the under side was an oval, inscribed with the divine name of Menkau-ra, Son of the Sun.

Again, again, and yet again, she plunged in her hand and drew emeralds from Pharaoh’s breast bedded there in spices.  Some were fashioned and some were not; but all were perfect in colour without a flaw, and in value priceless.  Again and again she plunged her white hand into that dread breast, till at length all were found, and there were one hundred and forty and eight of such gems as are not known in the world.  The last time that she searched she brought forth not emeralds, indeed, but two great pearls, wrapped in linen, such as never have been seen.  And of these pearls more hereafter.

So it was done, and all the mighty treasure lay glittering in a heap before us.  There it lay, and there, too, lay the regalia of gold, the spiced and sickly-scented wrappings, and the torn body of white-haired Pharaoh Menkau-ra, the Osirian, the ever living in Amenti.

We rose, and a great awe fell upon us, now that the deed was done and our hearts were no more upborne by the rage of search—­so great an awe, indeed, that we could not speak.  I made a sign to Cleopatra.  She grasped the head of Pharaoh and I grasped his feet, and together we lifted him, climbed the Sphinx, and placed him once more within his coffin.  I piled the torn mummy cloths over him and on them laid the lid of the coffin.

And now we gathered up the great gems, and such of the ornaments as might be carried with ease, and I hid them as many as I could, in the folds of my robe.  Those that were left Cleopatra hid upon her breast.  Heavily laden with the priceless treasure, we gave one last look at the solemn place, at the sarcophagus and the Sphinx on which it rested, whose gleaming face of calm seemed to mock us with its everlasting smile of wisdom.  Then we turned and went from the tomb.

At the shaft we halted.  I called to the eunuch, who stayed above, and methought a faint mocking laugh answered me.  Too smitten with terror to call again, and fearing that, should we delay, Cleopatra would certainly swoon, I seized the rope, and being strong and quick mounted by it and gained the passage.  There burnt the lamp:  but the eunuch I saw not.  Thinking, surely, that he was a little way down the passage, and slept—­as, in truth, he did—­I bade Cleopatra make the rope fast about her middle, and with much labour, drew her up.  Then, having rested awhile, we moved with the lamps to seek for the eunuch.

“He was stricken with terror and has fled, leaving the lamp,” said Cleopatra.  “O ye Gods! who is that seated there?”