But there was no answer.
With spirit heavy as death, Es-siddeeh wrapped him in his cloak and laid him down to sleep between the paws.
"Alas," said he to himself, "how brief, how obscure, and how profitless seem all the answers given to man!" Yet, when the morning came, it occurred to him that, if the Sphinx had indeed spoken, he would do well to ponder the words.
So for three moons he sat pondering: "Scarcely am I changed. 'Tis thou art changed. Look in thy heart: there is my secret."
Those who crossed the desert marked him, sunk in the deepest travail of thought.
"Why do you not look at the Sphinx?" they asked.
"I begin to know something about it: that is why," he replied. "If I gazed at it always in the present and never in memory I should learn nothing."
One day a young scribe of great beauty approached the Sphinx and in a low tone enquired: "What is the secret of thy smile, O Sphinx?"
"Speak louder. She will not hear you," called his companion.
Es-siddeeh leaped to his feet.