“You truly think that?” asked Denzil Murray in a low tone.

“I not only truly think it, I truly know it!” she answered, with a disdainful flash of her eyes.  “Of course, I speak of strong men with strong passions; they are the only kind of men women ever worship.  Of course, a weak, good-natured man is different; he would probably not harm a woman for the world, or give her the least cause for pain if he could help it, but that sort of man never becomes either an adept or a master in love.  Araxes was probably both.  No doubt he considered he had a perfect right to slay what he had grown weary of; he thought no more than men of his type think to-day, that the taking of a life demands a life in exchange, if not in this world, then in the next.”

The group of people near her were all silent, gazing with an odd fascination at the quaint and ancient-sculptured figures above them, when all at once Dr. Dean, taking the taper from the hands of the Egyptian servant, held the flame close to the features of the warrior riding in the car of triumph, and said slowly: 

“Do you not see a curious resemblance, Princess, between this Araxes and a friend of ours here present?  Monsieur Armand Gervase, will you kindly step forward?  Yes, that will do, turn your head slightly,—­so!  Yes!  Now observe the outline of the features of Araxes as carven in this sculpture thousands of years ago, and compare it with the outline of the features of our celebrated friend, the greatest French artist of his day.  Am I the only one who perceives the remarkable similarity of contour and expression?”

The Princess made no reply.  A smile crossed her lips, but no word escaped them.  Several persons, however, pressed eagerly forward to look at and comment upon what was indeed a startling likeness.  The same straight, fierce brows, the same proud, firm mouth, the same almond-shaped eyes were, as it seemed, copied from the ancient entablature and repeated in flesh and blood in the features of Gervase.  Even Denzil Murray, absorbed though he was in conflicting thoughts of his own, was struck by the coincidence.

“It is really very remarkable!” he said.  “Allowing for the peculiar style of drawing and design common to ancient Egypt, the portrait of Araxes might pass for Gervase in Egyptian costume.”

Gervase himself was silent.  Some mysterious emotion held him mute, and he was only aware of a vague irritation that fretted him without any seemingly adequate cause.  Dr. Dean meanwhile pursued his investigations with the lighted taper, and presently, turning round on the assembled little group of bystanders, he said: 

“I have just discovered another singular thing.  The face of the woman here—­the dancer and favorite—­is the face of our charming hostess, the Princess Ziska!”

Exclamations of wonder greeted this announcement, and everybody craned their necks to see.  And then the Princess spoke, slowly and languidly.