es as cold as the
cavern into which the dead man has descended, three official harangues
which have afforded the orators an opportunity to proclaim in very loud
tones their devotion to the interests of the dynasty. Fifteen times the
cannon have awakened the numerous echoes of the cemetery, shaken the
wreaths of jet and immortelles, the light _ex-votos_ hanging at the
corners of burial lots, and while a reddish cloud floats upward and
revolves amid the odor of powder across the city of the dead, mingling
gradually with the smoke from the factories of the plebeian quarter, the
countless multitude also disperses, scattering through the sloping
streets, the long stairways gleaming white among the verdure, with a
confused murmur as of waves beating against the rocks. Purple robes,
black robes, blue and green coats, gold ornaments, slender swords which
their wearers adjust while marching, return hastily to the carriages.
Dignified salutations, meaning smiles are exchanged, while the mourning
equipages rumble along the paths at a gallop, displaying lines of
black-coated drivers, with rounded backs, hats _en bataille_, capes
floating in the wind caused by their swift pace.

The general feeling is one of relief at the close of a long and
fatiguing exhibition, a legitimate eagerness to lay aside the
administrative harness, the ceremonious costumes, to loosen the belts,
the high collars and the stocks, to relax the features which, no less
than the bodies, have been wearing fetters.

Short and stout, dragging his bloated legs with difficulty, Hemerlingue
hurried toward the exit, declining the offers that were made him of a
seat in various carriages, knowing well that only his own was adapted to
the weight of his dropsical body.

"Baron, baron, this way. There's a seat for you."

"No, thanks. I am walking the numbness out of my legs."

And, in order to avoid these proposals, which at length annoyed him, he
took a cross-path that was almost deserted, too deserted in fact, for he
had hardly entered it when he regretted having done so. Ever since he
had entered the cemetery, he had had but one absorbing thought, the fear
of coming face to face with Jansoulet, whose violent temper he knew
well, and who might forget the majesty of the spot and repeat the
scandalous scene of Rue Royale in Pere-Lachaise. Two or three times
during the ceremony he had seen his former partner's great head emerge
from the mass of colorless types of which