A thick deposit of white chalk on the defaced, shrunken walls bears witness to great age.
And over all this is a strange old ceiling of cedarwood, traversed by large barbaric beams.
In the nave, supported by columns of marble, brought in days gone by from Pagan temples, there are, as in all these old Coptic churches, high transverse wooden partitions, elaborately wrought in the Arab fashion, which divide it into three sections: the first, into which one comes on entering the church, is allotted to the women, the second is for the baptistery, and the third, at the end adjoining the iconostasis, is reserved for the men.
These women who are gathered this morning in their apportioned space--so much at home there with their suckling little ones--wear, almost all of them, the long black silk veils of former days.

In their harmonious and endlessly restless groups, the gowns _a la franque_ and the poor hats of carnival are still the exception.

The congregation, as a whole, preserves almost intact its naive, old-time flavour.
And there is movement too, beyond, in the compartment of the men, which is bounded at the farther end by the iconostasis--a thousand-year-old wall decorated with inlaid cedarwood and ivory of precious antique workmanship, and adorned with strange old icons, blackened by time.

It is behind this wall--pierced by several doorways--that mass is now being said.

From this last sanctuary shut off thus from the people comes the vague sound of singing; from time to time a priest raises a faded silk curtain and from the threshold makes the sign of blessing.