X

That year the _Champs de Mars_ was occupied by one of the
series of _Expositions Universelles_. Under the trees, in
the heat and dust, crowds were swarming towards the entrance.
Jean passed the turnstiles and entered the palace of glass and
iron. He was still pursuing his passion, for he associated the
being he loved with all manifestations of art and luxury. He
made for the park and went straight to the Egyptian pavilion.
Egypt had filled his dreams from the day when all his thoughts
had been centred on one woman. In the avenue of sphinxes and
before the painted temple he fell under the glamour that women
of olden days and strange lands exercise on the senses,--on those
of lovers with especial force. The sanctuary was venerable in
his eyes, despite the vulgar use it was put to as part of the
Exhibition. Looking at the jewels of Queen Aahotep, who lived
and was lovely in the days of the Patriarchs, he pondered sadly
over all that had been in the world and was no more. He pictured
in fancy the black locks that had scented this diadem with the
sphinx's head, the slim brown arms these, beads of gold and lapis
lazuli had touched, the shoulders that had worn these vulture's
wings, the peaked bosoms these chains and gorgets had confined,
the breast that had once communicated its warmth to yonder gold
scarabæus with the blue wing-cases, the little royal hand that
once held that poniard by the hilt wrought over with flowers
and women's faces. He could not conceive how what was a dream to
him had been a reality for other men. Vainly he tried to follow
the lapse of ages. He told himself that another living shape