The world was never lost by one earthquake." And Nahoum had replied with a smooth friendliness: "The world is not reaped in one harvest." "The day is at hand--the East against the West," murmured old Diaz, as he passed on.
"The day is far spent," answered Nahoum, in a voice unheard by Diaz; and, with a word to his coachman, who drove off quickly, he disappeared in the shrubbery.
A few minutes later he was tapping at the door of Mizraim, the Chief Eunuch.

Three times he tapped in the same way.

Presently the door opened, and he stepped inside.

The lean, dark figure of Mizraim bowed low; the long, slow fingers touched the forehead, the breast, and the lips.
"May God preserve thy head from harm, excellency, and the night give thee sleep," said Mizraim.

He looked inquiringly at Nahoum.
"May thy head know neither heat nor cold, and thy joys increase," responded Nahoum mechanically, and sat down.
To an European it would have seemed a shameless mockery to have wished joy to this lean, hateful dweller in the between-worlds; to Nahoum it was part of a life which was all ritual and intrigue, gabbling superstition and innate fatalism, decorated falsehood and a brave philosophy.
"I have work for thee at last, Mizraim," said Nahoum.
"At last ?" "Thou hast but played before.