“I do not pray,” said Nebsecht, “for the law which moves the world is as little affected by prayers as the current of the sands in your hour-glass.  Who tells you that I do not seek to come upon the track of the first beginning of things?  I proved to you just now that I know more about the origin of Scarabei than you do.  I have killed many an animal, not only to study its organism, but also to investigate how it has built up its form.  But precisely in this work my organ for beauty has become blunt rather than keen.  I tell you that the beginning of things is not more attractive to contemplate than their death and decomposition.”

Pentaur looked at the physician enquiringly.

“I also for once,” continued Nebsecht, “will speak in figures.  Look at this wine, how pure it is, how fragrant; and yet it was trodden from the grape by the brawny feet of the vintagers.  And those full ears of corn!  They gleam golden yellow, and will yield us snow-white meal when they are ground, and yet they grew from a rotting seed.  Lately you were praising to me the beauty of the great Hall of Columns nearly completed in the Temple of Amon over yonder in Thebes.

     [Begun by Rameses I. continued by Seti I., completed by Rameses ii. 
     The remains of this immense hall, with its 134 columns, have not
     their equal in the world.]

How posterity will admire it!  I saw that Hall arise.  There lay masses of freestone in wild confusion, dust in heaps that took away my breath, and three months since I was sent over there, because above a hundred workmen engaged in stone-polishing under the burning sun had been beaten to death.  Were I a poet like you, I would show you a hundred similar pictures, in which you would not find much beauty.  In the meantime, we have enough to do in observing the existing order of things, and investigating the laws by which it is governed.”

“I have never clearly understood your efforts, and have difficulty in comprehending why you did not turn to the science of the haruspices,” said Pentaur.  “Do you then believe that the changing, and—­owing to the conditions by which they are surrounded—­the dependent life of plants and animals is governed by law, rule, and numbers like the movement of the stars?”

“What a question!  Is the strong and mighty hand, which compels yonder heavenly bodies to roll onward in their carefully-appointed orbits, not delicate enough to prescribe the conditions of the flight of the bird, and the beating of the human heart?”

“There we are again with the heart,” said the poet smiling, “are you any nearer your aim?”

The physician became very grave.  “Perhaps tomorrow even,” he said, “I may have what I need.  You have your palette there with red and black color, and a writing reed.  May I use this sheet of papyrus?”

“Of course; but first tell me . . . .”

“Do not ask; you would not approve of my scheme, and there would only be a fresh dispute.”