indeed the doors are sealed, on account of the priceless relics that
are collected here. So we shall not meet with any living being in these
halls to-night, in spite of their vast extent and endless turnings, and
in spite too of all these mysterious things that are ranged on every
side and fill the place with shadows and hiding-places.

Our round takes us first along the ground floor over flagstones that
resound to our footsteps. It is about ten of the clock. Here and there
through some stray windows gleams a small patch of luminous blue sky,
lit by the stars which for the good folk outside lend transparency to
the night; but there, none the less, the place is filled with a solemn
gloom, and we lower our voices, remembering perhaps the dead that fill
the glass cases in the halls above.

And these things which line the walls on either side of us as we pass
also seem to be in the nature of receptacles for the dead. For the most
part they are sarcophagi of granite, proud and indestructible: some of
them, in the shape of gigantic boxes, are laid out in line on pedestals;
others, in the form of mummies, stand upright against the walls and
display enormous faces, surmounted by equally enormous head-dresses.
Assembled there they look like a lot of malformed giants, with oversized
heads sunk curiously in their shoulders. There are, besides, some that
are merely statues, colossal figures that have never held a corpse in
their interiors; these all wear a strange, scarcely perceptible smile;
in their huge sphinxlike headgear they reach nearly to the ceiling and
their set stare passes high above our heads. And there are others that
are not larger than ourselves, some even quite little, with the stature
of gnomes. And, every now and then, at some sudden turning, we encounter
a pair of eyes of enamel, wide-open eyes, that pierce straight into the
depths of ours, that seem to follow us as we pass and make us shiver as