ardinal Pescara had used those
words. His mood was unrestful and his brain was haunted by unaccountable
memories, so that when he found himself in the shadow of the lofty
campanile of Westminster Cathedral his spirit became translated to an
obscure lane in Cairo. Faint organ notes reached his ears.

Thessaly received him in a little room having a balcony which overhung
the street. Delicate ivory plaques decorated the walls and the fanciful
curtains of Indian muslin hung like smoke of incense in the still air.
There were some extraordinary pastels by Degas forming a kind of frieze.
The evening was warm and the campanile upstood against a sky blue as a
sapphire dome. The Cairo illusion persisted.

"Do you know, Thessaly," said Paul, "to-night I cannot help thinking of
a scene I once witnessed in El Wasr. I formed one of a party of three
and we were wandering aimlessly through those indescribable lanes. Pipes
wailed in the darkness to an accompaniment of throbbing--throbbing of
the eternal _darabukeh_ which is like the pulsing of evil life through
the arteries of the secret city. Harsh woman-voices cried out in the
night and bizarre figures flitted like bats from the lighted dance halls
into the shadows of nameless houses. We came to a long, narrow street
entirely devoted to those dungeon-like chambers with barred windows
whose occupants represent all the classified races of the East and all
the unclassified sins of the Marquis de Sade. Another street crossed it
at right angles and at the cross roads was a mosque. The minaret stood
up blackly against the midnight sky and as we turned the corner we
perceived what appeared to be another of the 'cages' immediately facing
the door of the mosque. Out of the turmoil of the one street we came
into this other and leaving discord and evil behind us entered into
silence and peace. We looked in at the barred window. Woman voices
reached us faintly from the street we had left and the muted pulse of
the _darabukeh_ pursued us. Upon a raised dais having candles set at his
head and feet reposed a venerable _sheikh_, dead. His white beard flowed
over his breast. He reclined in majestic sleep where the pipes were
wailing the call of El Wasr, and the shadow of the minaret lay upon life
and upon death. Is it not strange that this scene should recur to me
to-night?"

"Strange and uncomplimentary," replied Thessaly. "Whilst I have no
objection to your finding an analogy between my perfectly