“Never, madam!” said Dr. Dean gallantly laying his hand upon his heart.  “You are quite an exception to the rule.  You have passed through the furnace of marriage and come out unscathed.  Time has done its worst with you, and now retreats, baffled and powerless; it can touch you no more!”

Whether this was meant as a compliment or the reverse it would have been difficult to say, but Lady Fulkeward graciously accepted it as the choicest flattery, and bowed, smiling and gratified.  Dinner was now drawing to its end, and people were giving their orders for coffee to be served to them on the terrace and in the gardens, Gervase among the rest.  The Doctor turned to him.

“I should like to see your picture of the Princess,” he said,—­ “that is if you have no objection.”

“Not the least in the world,” replied Gervase,—­“only it isn’t the Princess, it is somebody else.”

A faint shudder passed over him.  The Doctor noticed it.

“Talking of curious things,” went on that irrepressible savant, “I started hunting for a particular scarabeus to-day.  I couldn’t find it, of course,—­it generally takes years to find even a trifle that one especially wants.  But I came across a queer old man in one of the curiosity-shops who told me that over at Karnak they had just discovered a large fresco in one of the tombs describing the exploits of the very man whose track I’m on—­Araxes ...”

Gervase started,—­he knew not why.

“What has Araxes to do with you?” he demanded.

“Oh, nothing!  But the Princess Ziska spoke of him as a great warrior in the days of Amenhotep,—­and she seems to be a great Egyptologist, and to know many things of which we are ignorant.  Then you know last night she adopted the costume of a dancer of that period, named Ziska-Charmazel.  Well, now it appears that in one part of this fresco the scene depicted is this very Ziska-Charmazel dancing before Araxes.”

Gervase listened with strained attention,—­his heart beat thickly, as though the Doctor were telling him of some horrible circumstance in which he had an active part; whereas he had truly no interest at all in the matter, except in so far as events of history are more or less interesting to everyone.

“Well?” he said after a pause.

“Well,” echoed Dr. Dean.  “There is really nothing more to say beyond that I want to find out everything I can concerning this Araxes, if only for the reason that the charming Princess chose to impersonate his lady-love last night.  One must amuse one’s self in one’s own fashion, even in Egypt, and this amuses me.”

Gervase rose, feeling in his pocket for his cigarette-case.

“Come,” he said briefly, “I will show you my picture.”

He straightened his tall, fine figure and walked slowly across the room to the table where Denzil Murray sat with his sister and friends.

“Denzil,” he said,—­“I have made a strange portrait of the Princess Ziska, and I’m going to show it to Dr. Dean.  I should like you to see it too.  Will you come?”