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touch the hieroglyphs that also adorned the painting. “Oh, if only we could unlock this puzzle, what stories we would learn, what history would be revealed to us across the centuries. I heard that a year or so ago, the French found an inscribed stone of immense importance somewhere near here, at Rosetta, I think. It is said to be written with three different languages, one being Greek, another hieroglyphic, and I’m not sure about the third. Anyway, it is hoped that all the inscriptions are versions the same text. If so, maybe our understanding will advance at last. I was told that the British confiscated this stone, and I pray the information is correct, for we do not wish the French to have the glory of translating hieroglyphs, do we?” She smiled at Tansy.
    “Certainly not. That would not do at all.” Tansy smiled at her. “You have surprised me greatly tonight, Hermione.”
    “Ah, my dear, just because I say very little and seem inclined to regard crochet as the be-all and end-all of life, does not mean that I am a fool.”
    “Oh, I have never thought you that.”
    “No, my dear, maybe you haven’t, but I fear your cousin has formed a very firm opinion on the matter.”
    Amanda sighed in her sleep and turned over, and at the same time the wind stirred the oleanders. A draft breathed in, persuading both women to return to the floor to sleep, but as Tansy began to wrap herself as cozily as she could, she found something cold and hard caught up in her blanket. It was the object that Amanda had tripped upon earlier, and with the help of the moon Tansy saw it was a bronze figurine of a cat, about eight inches tall, with gold rings piercing its ears and nose; bronze or not, it felt oddly warm to the touch. There were hieroglyphs around its neck, so she knew it was very old indeed.
    “What have you found, my dear?” Hermione inquired.
    “Another cat, would you believe? A little statuette this time,” Tansy replied, then gasped as the cat they had seen earlier appeared at the entrance. It was a tabby, and it regarded them in that disconcerting way cats have.
    Hermione saw it as well, then leaned up on an elbow to study the painted cat on the wall. “You know, they both look very alike. The fur is almost the same.” The cat trotted toward Tansy and nuzzled the figurine in her hand, purring loudly. Then it kneaded the folds of the blanket for a few moments, before rather impudently making itself comfortable to go to sleep. Hermione smiled. “You have a new friend, Tansy.”
    “So it seems.” Tansy was very fond of cats, so she stroked it gently. “Isn’t it rather strange for a wild cat to come to us like this?” she said.
    “Well, we don’t know that it’s wild, do we? I mean, come the daylight we might find that there is a village nearby. Anyway, that’s enough chitter chatter for the moment, my dear. We should try to sleep while we can.”
    “Yes, you’re right.” Tansy put the figurine aside and lay down, wishing she shared the tabby cat’s ability to be comfortable on a hard floor. “You do think Tusun will return for us, don’t you?” she asked Hermione.
    “He will do his best, I’m sure, my dear.”
    “It’s just that if he doesn’t….”
    “If he doesn’t, we’ll fend for ourselves,” the chaperone said stoutly.
    * * * *
    Martin and Tusun left their horses in a thicket of young palms a few hundred yards from the temple, then slipped across a watermelon field to some heaped mud-brick remains at the base of the mound, from where they observed the French encampment. Weary men were seated around a number of flickering camp-fires, and someone with a fine tenor voice was singing “Sur le Pont d’Avignon.” The soldiers were mostly infantry, with some carabineers, whose horses were tethered beneath a pomegranate tree. A number of Egyptian women were to be seen, some enveloped in black robes, others much more improper. Except for the French song, it might have been any army camp—but