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"No more," she said. "Not now."

He looked up, over her shoulder. He gave a little sigh, and squeezed her hand. "The museum party is here, it seems," he said. "And we mustn't keep Elliott standing about."

Alex swooped down suddenly to give her a little peck on the cheek. How chaste. She wiped at her nose quickly, and turned so that he wouldn't see the colour in her face.

"Well, are we all set?" Alex said. "We have our private guide meeting us at the museum in fifteen minutes. Oh, and before I forget, the opera has been completely arranged. Box seats and of course tickets to the ball afterwards. And Ramsey, old man, if you'll allow me to say so, I shan't compete with you that night for Julie's attentions."

Julie nodded. "Fallen in love already," she said with a mock whisper. She allowed Alex to help her to her feet. "A Miss Barrington."

"Please, darling, do give me your opinion. She's coming to the museum with us."

"Let's hurry," Ramses said. "Your father is not well. I'm surprised he doesn't remain behind."

"Good Lord, do you know what the Cairo Museum means to people?" said Alex. "And it's the dirtiest, dustiest place I've ever--"

"Alex, please, we are about to see the greatest collection of Egyptian treasures in existence."

"The last ordeal," Ramses said, taking Julie's arm. "And all the Kings are in one room? This is what you have been telling me?"

"My word, I should think you'd been there before," Alex said. "You are such a puzzle, old man...."

"Give up on it," Ramses whispered.

But Alex scarcely heard. He was whispering to Julie that she must give him a candid opinion of Miss Barrington. And Miss Barrington was the rosy-cheeked blond woman standing in the lobby with Elliott and Samir. A pretty thing, obviously.

"To think," said Julie, "you need my approval!"

"Shhhh, there she is. With Father. They're getting along famously."

"Alex, she's perfectly lovely."

Through the broad dusty rooms of the first floor they trekked, listening to the guide, who spoke rapidly despite his thick Egyptian accent. Ah, treasures galore, there was no doubt of it. All the loot of the tombs; things he had never even dreamed of in his time. And here it was for all the world to see, under soiled glass and weak lights, yet nevertheless preserved from time and ruin.

He stared at the statue of the happy scribe--the little cross-legged figure with his papyrus on his lap, looking up eagerly. It should have moved him to tears. But all he felt was a vague joy that he had come, he had visited it all as he should, and now he would be leaving.

At last they proceeded up the grand stairway. The room of the Kings, the ordeal he was dreading. He felt Samir at his side.

"Why not forgo this gruesome pleasure, sire? For they are all horrors."

"No, Samir, let me see it through to the finish."

He almost laughed when he understood what it was--a great chamber of glass cases like the cases in the department stores where goods were displayed safe from prying fingers.

Nevertheless the blackened grinning bodies gave him a dull shock. It seemed he could scarcely hear the guide, and yet the words were coming clear:

"The Ramses the Damned mummy in England is still a controversial discovery. Very controversial. This is the true Ramses the Second, right before you, known as Ramses the Great."

Edging closer, he stared down at the gaunt horrid thing that bore his name.

"... Ramses the Second, greatest of all Egypt's Pharaohs."

He almost smiled as he studied the dried limbs, and then the obvious truth hit him, like something physical pressing on his chest, that if he had not gone into that cave with the wicked old priestess, he would indeed be lying in this case. Or what was left of him. And all the world since faded; it was no more suddenly than those years. And to think he would have died without knowing so much; without ever realizing....

Noise. Julie had said something, but he couldn't hear her. There was a dull roaring in his head. Suddenly he saw them all, these ghastly corpses, like burnt things out of the oven. He saw the filthy glass; he saw the tourists pushing this way and that.

He heard Cleopatra's voice. When you let him die, you let me die! I want to be with him now. Take it away. I won't drink it.

Were they moving again? Had Samir said it was time to go? He looked up slowly from the awful sunken face and saw Elliott gazing at him, with the strangest expression. What was it? Understanding.