“It’s the example of these gaping sepulchres,” Dicky replied.  “Don’t apologize.”

The passages grew narrower and more complex, the tombs more irregular.  We came to one that partly blocked the path, tilted against the main wall like a separate sarcophagus, though it was really part of the solid rock.  Looking back, a wall seemed to have risen behind us; it was a distinctly perplexing moment, hard upon the nerves.  The tomb was empty, except for a few bones that might have been anything huddled at the bottom, and Mrs. Portheris sat down on the lower end of it.  “I really do not feel able to go any further,” she said; “the ascent is so perpendicular.”

I was going to protest that the place was as level as a street, but Dicky forestalled me.  “Eucalyptus,” he said soothingly, “often has that effect.”

“We are lost,” continued Mrs. Portheris lugubriously, “in the Catacombs.  We may as well make up our minds to it.  We came here this morning at ten o’clock, and I should think, I should think—­thish mus’ be minnight on the following day.”

“My watch has run down,” said Dicky, “but you are probably quite right, Mrs. Portheris.”

“It is doubtful,” Mrs. Portheris went on, pulling herself together, “whether we are ever found.  There are nine hundred miles of Catacombs.  Unless we become cannibals we are likely to die of starvation.  If we do become cannibals, Mr. Dod,” she added, sternly endeavouring to look Dicky in the eye, “I hope you will remember what ish due to ladies.”

“I will offer myself up gladly,” said he, and I could not help reflecting upon the comfort of a third party with a sense of humour under the circumstances.

“Thass right,” said Mrs. Portheris, nodding approvingly, and much oftener than was necessary.  “Though there isn’t much on you—­you won’t go very far.”  Then after a moment of gloomy reflection she blew out her candle, and, before I could prevent it, mine also.  Dicky hastily put his out of reach.

“Three candles at once,” she said virtuously, “in a room of this size!  It is wicked extravagance, neither more nor less.”

I assure you you would have laughed, even in the Catacombs, and Dicky and I mutually approached the borders of hysteria in our misplaced mirth.  Mrs. Portheris smiled in unison somewhat foolishly, and we saw that slumber was overtaking her.  Gradually and unconsciously she slipped down and back, and presently rested comfortably in the sepulchre of her selection, sound asleep.

“She is right in it,” said Dicky, holding up his candle.  “She’s a lulu,” he added disgustedly, “with her eucalyptus.”