And it seems strange, that he, who looks so young, should have for son the old man, almost a centenarian, who lies beside him.
In our passage we have gazed on many other royal mummies, some tranquil and some grimacing.

But, to finish, there is one of them (the third coffin there, in the row in front of us), a certain Queen Nsitanebashru, whom I approach with fear, albeit it is mainly on her account that I have ventured to make this fantastical round.

Even in the daytime she attains to the maximum of horror that a spectral figure can evoke.

What will she be like to-night in the uncertain light of our little lantern?
There she is indeed, the dishevelled vampire in her place right enough, stretched at full length, but looking always as if she were about to leap up; and straightway I meet the sidelong glance of her enamelled pupils, shining out of half-closed eyelids, with lashes that are still almost perfect.

Oh! the terrifying person! Not that she is ugly, on the contrary we can see that she was rather pretty and was mummied young.
What distinguishes her from the others is her air of thwarted anger, of fury, as it were, at being dead.