d crowded downward to the posterior side; at
the right, a slight elevation indicated the place of the liver. A tap of
the finger on the various parts of the body produced a sound like that
from dry leather. While Leon was pointing out these details to his
audience and doing the honors of his mummy, he awkwardly broke off the
lower part of the right ear, and a little piece of the colonel remained
in his hand. This trifling accident might have passed unnoticed had not
Clementine, who followed with visible emotion all the movements of her
lover, dropped her candle and uttered a cry of affright. All gathered
around her. Leon took her in his arms and carried her to a chair. M.
Renault ran after salts. She was as pale as death, and seemed on the
point of fainting. She soon recovered, however, and reassured them all
by a charming smile.

"Pardon me," she said, "for such a ridiculous exhibition of terror; but
what Monsieur Leon was saying to us--and then--that figure which seemed
sleeping--it appeared to me that the poor man was going to open his
mouth and cry out, when he was injured."

Leon hastened to close the walnut box, while M. Martout picked up the
piece of ear and put it in his pocket. But Clementine, while continuing
to smile and make apologies, was overcome by a fresh access of emotion
and melted into tears. The engineer threw himself at her feet, poured
forth excuses and tender phrases, and did all he could to console her
inexplicable grief.

Clementine dried her eyes, looked prettier than ever, and sighed fit to
break her heart, without knowing why.

"Beast that I am!" muttered Leon, tearing his hair. "On the day when I
see her again after three years' absence, I can think of nothing more
soul-inspiring than showing her mummies!" He launched a kick at the
triple coffin of the colonel, saying, "I wish the devil had the
confounded colonel!"

"No!" cried Clementine, with redoubled energy and emotion. "Do not curse
him, Monsieur Leon! He has suffered so much! Ah! poor, poor,
unfortunate man!"

Mlle. Sambucco felt a little ashamed. She made excuses for her niece,
and declared that never, since her tenderest childhood, had she
manifested such extreme sensitiveness ... Clementine was no sensitive
plant. She was not even a romantic school-girl. Her youth had not been
nourished by Anne Radcliffe, she did not trouble herself about ghosts,
and she would go through the house very tranquilly at ten o'clock at
night with