Tottering cupolas show us irreparable cracks; the halves of broken arches are outlined to-night in shadow against the mother-of-pearl light of the sky, and debris of sculptured stones are strewn about.

But nevertheless these tombs, that are well-nigh accursed, still stir in us a vague sense of alarm--particularly those in the distance, which rise up like silhouettes of misshapen giants in enormous hats--dark on the white sheet of sand--and stand there in groups, or scattered in confusion, at the entrance to the vast empty regions beyond.
***** We had chosen a time when the light was doubtful in order that we might avoid the tourists, but as we approach the funeral dwelling of Sultan Barkuk, the assassin, we see, issuing from it, a whole band, some twenty in a line, who emerge from the darkness of the abandoned walls, each trotting on his little donkey and each followed by the inevitable Bedouin driver, who taps with his stick upon the rump of the beast.

They are returning to Cairo, their visit ended, and exchange in a loud voice, from one ass to another, more or less inept impressions in various European languages.

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