The professor had been peering along the bookshelves, but at her exclamation he turned.
"Yes. Professor of Egyptology I have been for fifteen years already, in the University of Leipzig. The book you have perhaps seen, Fräulein. Very old and rare it is, with the cover much stained—"
"Is this it?" Betty held out a quaint, time-worn volume, which he seized with avidity.
"In here an inscription is, from the tomb of Ameni-emhat, at Beni-Hasan, for which long looking have I been." He turned the pages eagerly, then paused with a snort of satisfaction, and read in a mumbling undertone: "'Renpit XLIII Xer hen en Horu anx mest suten net xeper-ka-Ra anx Petta—'"
"Year forty-three, under the Majesty of Horus, living one of births, king of the North, Kheper-ka-Ra, living forever—" Betty translated softly, in utter self-forgetfulness.
"Himmel! What is this?" The professor stared at her over his huge-rimmed glasses. "You know Egyptian!"
Betty flushed.
"I—I knew a young man in my home town who had studied it abroad, and he taught me a little," she stammered hastily.
"A little? Donnerwetter! For my assistant I should like you, so fluently you translate!" His eyes shone with the fire of an enthusiast. "After my own heart you are, Fräulein, and to teach you more, proud I should be!"
"Thank you, Professor, but I—I have no time at present." Betty turned back to her desk with a determined air and after futile efforts to engage her further in conversation he departed, shaking his head in stupefaction.