As for his message, one of his servants took back the answer to Pharaoh and to Userti, with the news of his master's grievous sickness.
Some eight days or so later, as I stood one morning basking in the sun at that gate of the palace gardens which overlooks the temple of Ptah, idly watching the procession of priests passing through its courts and chanting as they went (for because of the many sicknesses at this time I left the palace but rarely), I saw a tall figure approaching me draped against the morning cold.

The man drew near, and addressing me over the head of the guard, asked if he could see the lady Merapi.

I answered No, as she was engaged in nursing her son.
"And in other things, I think," he said with meaning, in a voice that seemed familiar to me.

"Well, can I see the Prince Seti ?" I answered No, he was also engaged.
"In nursing his own soul, studying the eyes of the lady Merapi, the smile of his infant, the wisdom of the scribe Ana, and the attributes of the hundred and one gods that are known to him, including that of Israel, I suppose," said the familiar voice, adding, "Then can I see this scribe Ana, who I understand, being lucky, holds himself learned." Now, angered at the scoffing of this stranger (though all the time I felt that he was none), I answered that the scribe Ana was striving to mend his luck by the pursuit of the goddess of learning in his study.
"Let him pursue," mocked the stranger, "since she is the only woman that he is ever likely to catch.

Yet it is true that once one caught him.