ike hail; pale lightnings illumined on the shelves of
the cupboards the old yellowed skulls and the grimacing death's-heads of
the Anthropological Museum; while the low rolling of the thunder formed
an accompaniment to the waltz of Nes Khons, the daughter of Horus and
Rouaa, as she pirouetted in the impatient hands of those who were
unwrapping her.

The mummy was visibly growing smaller in size, and its slender form
showed more and more plainly under its diminishing wrappings. A vast
quantity of linen filled the room, and we could not help wondering how a
box which was scarcely larger than an ordinary coffin had managed to
hold it all. The neck was the first portion of the body to issue from
the bandages; it was covered with a fairly thick layer of naphtha which
had to be chiselled away. Suddenly, through the black remains of the
natron, there flashed on the upper part of the breast a bright gleam of
gold, and soon there was laid bare a thin sheet of metal, cut out into
the shape of the sacred hawk, its wings outspread, its tail fanlike like
that of eagles in heraldry. Upon this bit of gold--a funeral jewel not
rich enough to tempt body-snatchers--had been written with a reed and
ink a prayer to the gods, protectors of the tombs, asking that the heart
and the viscerae of the dead should not be removed far from her body. A
beautiful microscopic hawk, which would have made a lovely watch-charm,
was attached by a thread to a necklace of small plates of blue glass, to
which was hung also a sort of amulet in the shape of a flail, made of
turquoise-blue enamel. Some of the plates had become semi-opaque, no
doubt owing to the heat of the boiling bitumen which had been poured
over them, and then had slowly cooled.

So far, of course, nothing unusual had been found; in mummy cases there
are often discovered numbers of these small trifles, and every curiosity
shop is full of similar blue enamelled-ware figures; but we now came
upon an unexpected and touchingly graceful detail. Under each armpit of
the dead woman had been placed a flower, absolutely colourless, like
plants which have been long pressed between the leaves of a herbarium,
but perfectly preserved, and to which a botanist could readily have
assigned a name. Were they blooms of the lotus or the persea? No one of
us could say. This find made me thoughtful. Who was it that had put
these poor flowers there, like a supreme farewell, at the moment when
the beloved body was