FTATATEETA. Not from thee, baby. (She snatches his ankle from
under him and flies stooping along the palace wall vanishing in
the darkness within its precinct. Bel Affris roars with laughter
as the Persian tumbles. The guardsmen rush out of the palace with
Belzanor and a mob of fugitives, mostly carrying bundles.)

PERSIAN. Have you found Cleopatra?

BELZANOR. She is gone. We have searched every corner.

THE NUBIAN SENTINEL (appearing at the door of the palace). Woe!
Alas! Fly, fly!

BELZANOR. What is the matter now?

THE NUBIAN SENTINEL. The sacred white cat has been stolen. Woe!
Woe! (General panic. They all fly with cries of consternation.
The torch is thrown down and extinguished in the rush. Darkness.
The noise of the fugitives dies away. Dead silence. Suspense.
Then the blackness and stillness breaks softly into silver mist
and strange airs as the windswept harp of Memnon plays at the
dawning of the moon. It rises full over the desert; and a vast
horizon comes into relief, broken by a huge shape which soon
reveals itself in the spreading radiance as a Sphinx pedestalled
on the sands. The light still clears, until the upraised eyes of
the image are distinguished looking straight forward and upward
in infinite fearless vigil, and a mass of color between its great
paws defines itself as a heap of red poppies on which a girl
lies motionless, her silken vest heaving gently and regularly