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By Root 1342 0

then a momentary pause, and the door opened slowly, admitting Lucy, followed by Caroline and Blanche. But they halted; there were already five women in the room. Gaga was stretched out in the only easy-chair—one in red velvet. Simone and Clarisse, standing in front of the fire-place, were conversing with Léa de Horn, seated on a chair; whilst before the bed, to the left of the door, Rose Mignon, leaning against the woodwork of the foot, was looking fixedly at the corpse, lost in the shadow of the curtains. All the others had their bonnets and gloves on, like ladies out visiting; she only had bare hands, and her hair in disorder, her face pale with the fatigue of three nights of nursing. And there she stood, feeling stupid, with her features swollen from weeping, in the presence of that so sudden death. On the corner of the chest of drawers, a lamp with a shade lighted up Gaga with a brilliant flood of light.

“Ah! what a misfortune!” murmured Lucy, as she squeezed Rose’s hand. “We wanted to bid her good-bye.”

And she turned her head to catch a glimpse of Nana, but the lamp was too far off, and she did not like to move it nearer. On the bed a grey mass lay stretched out—one could only distinguish the golden chignon, and a palish-looking spot which was probably the face. Lucy added:

“I have never seen her since she was at the Gaiety Theatre, in the grotto.”

Then Rose, shaking off her torpor, smiled and said, “Ah she is altered—she is altered!”

And she returned to her contemplation, without a gesture, without a word. Perhaps they would be able to look at her by-and-by; and the three women joined the others in front of the fire-place. Simone and Clarisse were talking, in an under-tone, about the deceased’s diamonds. Now, did they really exist, those diamonds? No one had seen them, it was probably all bosh. But Léa de Horn knew someone who was acquainted with them; oh! some monstrous stones! Besides, that wasn’t all, she had brought heaps of other riches from Russia—embroidered stuffs, precious knick-knacks, a service of gold plate, and even furniture; yes, my dear, fifty-two articles, some enormous cases, sufficient to load three luggage vans. It was all at the station. Ah! she had no luck, to die without even having time to unpack her things; and bear in mind that she had also some sous besides all these, something like a million. Lucy inquired who would inherit it all. Some distant relatives, the aunt very likely. A fine windfall for that old woman. She knew nothing yet; the invalid obstinately refused to have her informed, bearing her some ill-will for the death of her youngster. Then they all pitied the little fellow, as they recollected having seen him at the races—a baby full of disease, and who looked so sad and so old; in short, one of those poor brats who never wanted to be born.

“He is far happier in his grave,” said Blanche.

“Bah! and she also,” added Caroline. “Life isn’t so pleasant after all.”

Gloomy ideas possessed them, in the severity of that chamber of death. They were afraid, it was stupid to remain talking there so long; but a desire to see kept them rooted to the carpet. It was very warm, the lamp-glass shone on the ceiling like a moon, in the damp shadow which filled the apartment. Under the bed a soup plate full of some disinfectant exhaled a most unsavoury odour. And now and again a slight breath of air swelled the curtains of the window, opened on to the Boulevard, from whence arose a dull murmuring sound.

“Did she suffer much?” asked Lucy, who had been absorbed in the group above the clock—the three Graces, naked, and smiling like opera dancers. Gaga appeared to wake up.

“Ah! yes, she did! I was there when she passed away. I can tell you that there is nothing beautiful in it. She was seized with a shivering fit—”

But she could not continue her explanation. A cry arose—“To Berlin! to Berlin! to Berlin!”

And Lucy, who was stifling, opened the window wide, and leant out on the balustrade. There it was pleasant. A delightful coolness came from the starry sky. On the opposite side of the way,