The phantasy of its changes is unimaginable.

Even in the distances of the countryside, it is busy indicating by little trailing clouds of gold the smallest pathways traversed by the herds.
And now the disc of the God of Thebes has disappeared behind the Libyan mountains, after changing its light from red to yellow and from yellow to green.
And thereupon the tourists, judging that the display is over for the night, commence to descend and make ready for departure.

Some in carriages, others on donkeys, they go to recruit themselves with the electricity and elegance of Luxor, the neighbouring town (wines and spirits are paid for as extras, and we dress for dinner).

And the dust condescends to mark their exodus also by a last cloud of gold beneath the palm-trees of the road.
An immediate solemnity succeeds to their departure.

Above the mud houses of the fellah villages rise slender columns of smoke, which are of a periwinkle-blue in the midst of the still yellow atmosphere.