cribed the prayers of the funeral
ritual and the confession of the dead, who did not own to her faults,
but stated, on the contrary, those she had not committed,--"I have not
been guilty of murder, or of theft, or of adultery," etc. Another
inscription contained the genealogy of the woman, both on the father's
and on the mother's side. I do not transcribe here the series of strange
names, the last of which is that of Nes Khons, the lady enclosed in the
case, where she believed herself sure of rest while awaiting the day on
which her soul would, after many trials, be reunited to its
well-preserved body, and enjoy supreme felicity with its own flesh and
blood; a broken hope, for death is as disappointing as life.

The work of unrolling the bandages began; the outer envelope, of stout
linen, was ripped open with scissors. A faint, delicate odour of
balsam, incense, and other aromatic drugs spread through the room like
the odour of an apothecary's shop. The end of the bandage was then
sought for, and when found, the mummy was placed upright to allow the
operator to move freely around her and to roll up the endless band,
turned to the yellow colour of ecru linen by the palm wine and other
preserving liquids.

Strange indeed was the appearance of the tall rag-doll, the armature of
which was a dead body, moving so stiffly and awkwardly with a sort of
horrible parody of life, under the hands that were stripping it, while
the bandages rose in heaps around it. Sometimes the bandages held in
place pieces of stuff like fringed serviettes intended to fill hollows
or to support the shape.

Pieces of linen, cut open in the middle, had been passed over the head
and, fitted to the shoulders, fell down over the chest. All these
obstacles having been removed, there appeared a sort of veil like coarse
India muslin, of a pinkish colour, the soft tone of which would have
delighted a painter. It appears to me that the dye must have been
anatto, unless the muslin, originally red, turned rose-colour through
the action of the balsam and of time. Under the veil there was another
series of bandages, of finer linen, which bound the body more closely
with their innumerable folds. Our curiosity was becoming feverish, and
the mummy was being turned somewhat quickly. A Hoffmann or an Edgar Poe
could have found here a subject for one of his weird tales. It so
happened that a sudden storm was lashing the windows with heavy drops of
rain that rattled l