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Chapter 39

           

           "This,Iimaginemustbethefairdancer’sportrait,"—hesaid,holdingituptotheviewofalltheeagerandexclaimingspectators—"Quiteatreasure-trove!Anadmirablepieceofancientworkmanship,besidesbeingthepictureofaverylovelywoman.Doyounotthinkso,Geoffrey?"

           Hehandedmethemedallion—andIexamineditwithdeadlyandfascinatedinterest—thefacewasexquisitelybeautiful—butassuredlyitwasthefaceofSibyl!

           IneverrememberhowIlivedthroughtherestofthatday.Atnight,assoonasIhadanopportunityofspeakingtoRimânezalone,Iaskedhim...

           "Didyousee——didyounotrecognize?..."

           "ThatthedeadEgyptiandancerresembledyourlatewife?"hequietlycontinued—"Yes—Inoticeditatonce.Butthatshouldnotaffectyou.Historyrepeatsitself—whyshouldnotlovelywomenrepeatthemselves?Beautyalwayshasitsdoublesomewhere,eitherinthepastorfuture."

           Isaidnomore—butnextmorningIwasveryill—soillthatIcouldnotrisefrommybed,andpassedthehoursinrestlessmoaningandirritablepainthatwasnotsomuchphysicalasmental.TherewasaphysicianresidentatthehotelatLuxor,andLucio,alwaysshowinghimselfparticularlyconsiderateformypersonalcomfort,sentforhimatonce.Hefeltmypulse,shookhishead,andaftermuchdubiouspondering,advisedmyleavingEgyptimmediately.

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