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devoting his life to the service of a holy man.”
    Selim let out an exclamation of surprise. “What holy man?”
    “I didn’t ask.”
    “Well, I will,” Emerson declared. “Good Gad, what is the fellow thinking of? He’s one of my most experienced men. I will just have a talk with him and order him—”
    “Father, you can’t do that,” Ramses protested. “It’s his right and his decision.”
    “But Hassan, of all people,” Emerson exclaimed, rubbing his chin. “The jolliest, most cheerful old reprobate in the family!”
    “He has been acting strangely,” Selim said slowly. “Since his wife died, he has kept to himself.”
    “That accounts for his state of mind then,” Ramses said.
    Emerson curled his lip in an expression of profound cynicism. “Don’t be such a romantic, my boy. Well, well, he must do as he likes. Your mother would accuse me of breaking some damned commandment or other if I attempted to make him see reason.”
    WE WERE TO DINE WITH THE Vandergelts that evening. Emerson always complained about going out to dinner. It was just his way of making a fuss, since he thoroughly enjoyed the Vandergelts and would have been sadly disappointed if I had declined the invitation. He fussed louder than usual on that occasion, since I had insisted he assume evening dress, which he hates. I was ready long before he, of course, so I sat glancing through a magazine and listening to the altercation in the next room, where Gargery was assisting Emerson with his toilette. Since Emerson never employs a valet, Gargery had somewhat officiously assumed that role as well.
    “Stop complaining and hurry, Emerson,” I called.
    “I do not see why the devil I must . . . curse it, Gargery!” said Emerson.
    We had been over this several times, but Emerson always pretends not to hear things he does not want to hear, so I said it again. “M. Lacau has come all the way from Cairo to inspect the objects from the princesses’ tomb. Cyrus is counting on us to put him in a good mood so he will be generous in his division and leave a share to Cyrus. By all reports he is much stricter than dear Maspero, so—”
    “You repeat yourself, Peabody,” Emerson growled.
    He appeared in the doorway.
    “You look very handsome,” I said. “Thank you, Gargery.”
    “Thank you, madam,” said Gargery, looking as pleased as if I had complimented him on his looks. I could not honestly have done so, since he was losing his hair and his waistline. Even in his now distant youth he could not have been called handsome. But handsome is as handsome does, as the saying has it, and Gargery’s loyalty and his willingness to use a cudgel when the occasion demanded more than compensated for his looks.
    I bade him an affectionate good night. Emerson inserted his forefinger under his collar and gave Gargery a hateful look.
    Our little party assembled in the drawing room, where I inspected each person carefully. Emerson might and did sneer, but looks are important and I knew that though the proper French director of the Service des Antiquités might not notice our efforts, he would certainly take note of their absence. I could not in any way fault Nefret’s sea-blue satin frock and ornaments of Persian turquoise; she had excellent taste and a great deal of money—and the additional advantages of youth and beauty. Ramses hated evening dress almost as much as did his father, but it became him well; despite his efforts to flatten it, his hair was already springing back into the waves and curls he so disliked. As for myself, I believe I may say I looked respectable. I have little interest in my personal appearance, and no excuse for vanity. I had just touched up my hair a little and selected a frock of Emerson’s favorite crimson.
    Cyrus was known for the elegance of his entertainments. That night the Castle, his large and handsome residence near the entrance to the Valley of the Kings, blazed with light. Cyrus met us at the door, as was his