orror of granite, with an implacable smile and a
devouring jaw.

CHAPTER XIX

A TOWN PROMPTLY EMBELLISHED

Eight years and a line of railway have sufficed to accomplish its
metamorphosis. Once in Upper Egypt, on the borders of Nubia, there was
a little humble town, rarely visited, and wanting, it must be owned, in
elegance and even in comfort.

Not that it was without picturesqueness and historical interest. Quite
the contrary. The Nile, charged with the waters of equatorial Africa,
flung itself close by from the height of a mass of black granite, in
a majestic cataract; and then, before the little Arab houses, became
suddenly calm again, and flowed between islets of fresh verdure where
clusters of palm-trees swayed their plumes in the wind.

And around were a number of temples, of hypogea, of Roman ruins, of
ruins of churches dating from the first centuries of Christianity. The
ground was full of souvenirs of the great primitive civilisations. For
the place, abandoned for ages and lulled in the folds of Islam under
the guardianship of its white mosque, was once one of the centres of the
life of the world.

And, moreover, in the adjoining desert, some three or four thousand
years ago, the ancient history of the world had been written by the
Pharaohs in immortal hieroglyphics--well-nigh everywhere, on the
polished sides of the strange blocks of blue and red granite that lie
scattered about the sands and look now like the forms of antediluvian
monsters.

*****

Yes, but it was necessary that all this should be co-ordinated, focused
as it were, and above all rendered accessible to the delicate travellers
of the Agencies. And to-day we have the pleasure of announcing that,
from December to March, Assouan (for that is the name of the fortunate
locality) has a "season" as fashionable as those of Ostend or Spa.

In approaching it, the huge hotels erected on all sides--even on the
islets of the old river--charm the eye of the traveller, greeting him
with their welcoming signs, which can be seen a league away. True, they
have been somewhat hastily constructed, of mud and plaster, but they
recall none the less those gracious palaces with which the Compagnie des
Wagon-Lits has dowered the world. And how negligible now, how dwarfed
by the height of their facades, is the poor little town of olden times,
with its little houses, whitened with chalk, and its baby minaret.

The cataract, on the other hand, has disappear