"Go, and I will soon join you." "No," said I, using her language after my own broken fashion--"no, I will not go--I will stay, I will help, if you will permit." She looked at me earnestly, and seemed to see that my resolution was firmly fixed, and that I was not to be dissuaded from it.
"Very well," said she; "if you do stay and help me, it will be a great relief." With these simple words she proceeded to carry out her work.

At the foot of the pyramid there was a heap of wreaths made out of fresh flowers, and these were to be placed by her on the heads of the embalmed corpses.
"This work," said she, "is considered here the highest and most honorable that can be performed.

It is given to me out of kindness, and they cannot understand that I can have any other feelings in the performance than those of joy and exultation--here among the dead and in the dark." I said nothing, but followed and watched her, carrying the wreaths and supplying her.

She went to each niche in succession, and after taking the wreath off each corpse she placed a fresh one on, saying a brief formula at each act.

By keeping her supplied with wreaths I was able to lighten her task, so much so that, whereas it usually occupied her more than two hours, on the present occasion it was finished in less than half an hour.