Some lean Bedouins, who exercise the office of excavators, and sleep hard by in holes like jackals, advance to sell us scarabaei, blue-glass trinkets that are half fossilised, and feet or hands of the dead.
And now farewell to the fresh morning.

Every minute the heat becomes more oppressive.

The pathway that is marked only by a row of stones turns at last and leads into the depths of the mountain by a tragical passage.

We enter now into that "Valley of the Kings" which was the place of the last rendezvous of the most august mummies.

The breaths of air that reach us between these rocks are become suddenly burning, and the site seems to belong no longer to earth but to some calcined planet which had for ever lost its clouds and atmosphere.