Camilla had rarely seen gold. The gleam astonished her. No wonder the world had fallen in love with this metal; no wonder that conquistadors and pirates, presidents and archaeologists wanted it. She wanted that sandal. She was amazed by the ferocity of her desire. She asked permission, and received it, to touch the shoe. But when she did, a strange damp terror crept into her and she pulled her hand back as if from a hot iron.

“It was lying on the floor,” said Dr. Lightner. “Just one sandal. Not the other. It's solid gold. Not intended for actual wear.”

“Yet it was worn,” said Camilla. “See? The sole of the sandal is scraped.”

They stared in astonishment. She was right. The sandal had once slid onto the bare foot of an Egyptian girl, its intricately designed gold rope between her toes.

It was an Egyptian Cinderella's slipper, thought Camilla. She was leaving the ball, and her magic slipper fell off and was left behind. Somewhere in time, she still wears her other slipper.

Dr. Lightner held the gold sandal against his cheek, to feel its history. “Would the slipper fit you, Miss Matthews?” he asked.

“It was made for a small and slender foot,” she told him. “My foot is far too large. You will have to find a princess.”

“Miss Matthews, say no such thing. Among women, you are a queen.”

Camilla blushed and then, being truthful, extended her right foot. Grinning, he stuck his out next to it. Dr. Lightner's feet made her own look delicate. They stood in each other's footprints, lost their balance, and gripped each other to keep from falling. Before it could become impropriety, of course, they stepped back and pretended to be doing other things.

“Might I descend the shaft?” said Camilla eagerly, merely being polite, not expecting to need permission.

But Dr. Lightner refused. She was a lady, he explained.

On the one hand, Camilla loved being a lady: too important to take risks or get dirty. On the other hand, she hated being a lady: too unimportant to participate in the fun.

The mystery of the tomb, however, was not so much the single sandal, but its owner. When torches were brought into the depths, and the hieroglyphs on the stone coffin read, it turned out to be the sarcophagus of Hetepheres, mother of Khufu, who built the Great Pyramid.

Impossible. This little hole—a queen's tomb?

Pharaoh forced his people to labor for decades to create his tomb—and stuck his mother into an undecorated closet?

“Surely, inside that sarcophagus lies the queen herself,” said the young man from Yale.

“How fabulous her mummy will be!” said the boy from Princeton.

Dr. Lightner spread his hands in a shrug. “One does not know these things in advance. Egypt likes to hold her secrets.”