"Go on, Herod," he said; "I am up in Egypt again."

"It was little we ate," said Voltaire, "during the next seven days. We
were too anxious to know whether the secrets of the dead were to be
revealed. Neither could we speak much, for the tongue is generally
silent when the soul is wrapped in mystery; and right glad were we when
the day dawned on which the veil should be made thicker or altogether
drawn aside.

"We did not seek to know the mystery after which we were panting until
the midnight of Ilfra's birthday. Then, when the earth in its revolution
spelt out that hour, we entered the room of the maiden whose soul had
departed.

"The Egyptians have lost much of the knowledge of the ancients,
especially in the art of embalming. Often the sons of Egypt moan over
that departed wisdom; still the art is not altogether gone. The body of
Ilfra lay embalmed before us as we entered. She had been beautiful in
life, but was more beautiful in death, and it was with reverence for
that beauty that I stood beside her.

"'Fetch Helfa,' said Abou to a servant, 'and then begone.'

"Helfa was Abou's son. Here, in England, you would cruelly designate him
as something between a madman and an idiot, but the Easterns look not
thus upon those who possess not their ordinary faculties. Through Helfa,
Abou had seen many wonderful things, and now he was going to use him
again.