Marvin now observed that she was Pauline's height, and age, as well as
general size and form. Slightly shorter she might have been, but then
she lacked Pauline's high heels. The general resemblance was striking
except in the color of the eyes and hair. Pauline's tresses were a
light golden yellow, while this girl's hair was black as the hollow of
the sphinx. Pauline's eyes were blue, but she who stood before him
gazed through eyes too dark to guess their color.

The Egyptian had found a little mirror. She patted her hair, adjusted
the head-dress, but Marvin waited in vain for the powder puff. From
the mirror the girl's eyes wandered to a painting hanging above the
desk. It was an excellent likeness of Pauline. The resemblance
between the two was obvious, not only to Marvin but evidently to the
black-haired girl. She turned to the old man and addressed him in a
strange language. Not one word did he recognize, yet the syllables
were so clearly and carefully pronounced that he felt he was listening
to an educated woman. Some of the tones were like Pauline's, some were
not, but all were soft, sweet, modulated.

The meaning was clear enough. She wished Marvin to see the
resemblance, and she frowned slightly because the rigid, staring figure
did not respond. Why should she be impatient, this woman of the
Pharaohs who had lain stiff and unresponsive while Babylon and Greece
and Rome and Spain had risen and fallen?

Soon she resorted to pantomime, pointed to herself and the picture,
touched her eyes and nose and mouth and then the corresponding painted
features. She felt of her own jet hair, shook her head and looked
questioningly at the light coiffure of Pauline. She turned to the old