“Oh, yes!” I breathed. “Oh, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

With Rosie in my arms, I stepped outside through tall French doors that opened onto a little private balcony overlooking a formal green garden. The first brilliant stars had begun to appear in an ultramarine sky. Palm trees slanted on the horizon, black against a tangerine sunset.

“Look, Rosie!” I whispered. “We’re in a Palmolive ad!”

While I stood rapt and idle as a princess, my things were unpacked and hung up or folded neatly into drawers. Feeling quite worldly and experienced, I waited to tip the gentlemen until their tasks were completed to their own satisfaction.

Alone at last, I peeked into the bathroom and was delighted by gorgeous cobalt tiles, a deep copper tub, and thick white towels stacked high on a shelf. I served Rosie a drink from a china whatnot dish and ran a bath for myself. She wriggled under the bathmat and fell asleep while I soaked in pleasantly tepid water.

Refreshed, I made a call downstairs to inquire about room service. I was informed that Miss Bell had already ordered a supper to be delivered to my room at eight-thirty, but that it was ready to be sent up right away. Minutes later, it arrived on a rolling cart, complete with a plate of meat scraps and a bone for Rosie. There was even a stack of newspapers to lay out for the dog afterward. It was a very nice gesture, and I thought better of Miss Bell for it.

Thus a day that had begun in heat and noise 14 0 miles north, in Alexandria, ended as I slipped between crisply ironed sheets in a quiet Cairo hotel. Rosie nosed beneath the light cotton coverlet and corkscrewed round and round, all the while producing the wheezes and mutterings peculiar to dachshunds attempting to get comfortable for the night. At long last she settled and sighed and slept. I expected to do the same momentarily. I was as tired as I had ever been in my life: the journey, the heat, the novelty, the anxiety, the bliss of arrival! But sleep would not come.