She looked again, while Freddy held the torch nearer. A vulture with outstretched wings, the ancient emblem of divine protection, cut out of flat gold, sat upon the forehead of the mummy. Its left claw had slipped into the empty eye-socket. A row of long white teeth gaped threateningly up to the roof. The lips had dried and withered until they had become as hard as brown leather. Alas for human vanity! Those lips had once been a lover's, those lips had once responded to human caresses and desires!
Meg's flesh shrank. It was horrible. It was wrong to pry upon this pitiful object which centuries had hidden from man's sight, this humiliation of royal power. Nothing could have illustrated more vividly the mockery and the futility of human greatness. The ghastly cheeks, covered with something which had once been human flesh, the menacing teeth, the embalmed skull, sickened Meg.
For relief she turned her eyes once more to the sublime effigy, to the waiting bride. Her chamber had been furnished with the lavish indulgence of an ardent bridegroom.
Michael was standing by Margaret's side. Her hand caught his; human contact was essential.
The coffin which had once held the mummy had rested on a beautiful wooden trestle, which had been covered with a golden canopy. The legs of the trestle had given way, probably with the weight of the coffin, for the wood had become as brittle and dry as fine egg-shell. With the fall the mummied body had rolled out and landed on the ground.
This, Freddy conjectured, was the explanation of the apparent desecration of the tomb.
After they had looked at all that Freddy could show them until more work had been accomplished, at the two figures which occupied the tomb, the one so abject and distressing the other so magnificent and romantic, and at the furniture which appeared to Meg to have been made only the day before, in spite of Freddy's warning that a breath of cold air would disperse it before their eyes, he told them that "time was up."
Meg's astonishment had increased with the examination of every object—the carved wooden armchair, which appeared to belong to the best Empire period; the exquisite wedding-chest, of lacquer, the blues and greens of its floral decorations still daringly brilliant and vivid—they were far brighter and more perfect than any decorations which a faker of antiquities would dare to perpetrate.
"But, surely," she said at last, when they had come to the end, "this furniture's just pure Empire? Look at it, Mike." She pointed to the exquisite armchair, an object too beautiful and rare for mere human forms to rest in; then she made him examine the couch. A portion of its fine cane seating had given way. Had a ghostly form sat on it? "I thought the French copied their Empire furniture from ancient Greek models?" she said.
"Well, if they did, here we have it in all its perfection," Freddy said. "In Egypt you'll find the originals of more than Empire furniture. The thing is, where did the Egyptians get their models from? None of the Louis's ever gave their Pompadours, nor Napoleon his Josephine, anything as beautiful as that." He pointed to the casket.