red with horror and
closed her eyes. The idea of life was so strong within her that she
pictured death as a hideous life. Afraid of death, she prayed for a long
life. Kneeling, with bowed head, the voluptuous ashen cloud of her
buoyant hair falling over her forehead, she, a profane penitent, was
reading in her prayer-book words which reassured her, although she did
not understand them.

"Lord Jesus Christ, King of Glory, deliver the souls of all the faithful
dead from the pains of hell and from the depths of the bottomless pit.
Deliver them from the lion's jaws. Let them not be plunged into hell,
and let them not fall into the outer darkness, but suffer that St.
Michael, the Prince of Angels, lead them to the holy light promised by
Thee to Abraham and to his posterity."

At the Elevation of the Host the congregation, permeated by a vague
impression that the mystery was becoming more sacred, ceased its private
conversations, and assumed a certain appearance of reverent devotion.
And as the organ fell silent all heads were bowed at the tinkling of a
little bell which was shaken by a child. Then, after the last Gospel,
when, the service being over, the priest, attended by his acolytes,
approached the catafalque to the chanting of the _Libera_, a sense of
relief was experienced by the crowd, and they began to jostle one
another a little in order to file past the coffin. The women, whose
piety, grief and contrition were contingent upon their immobility and
their kneeling posture, were at once recalled to their customary frame
of mind by the movement and the encounters of the procession. They
exchanged amongst themselves and with the men remarks relating to their
profession.

"Do you know," said Ellen Midi to Falempin, "that Nanteuil is going to
join the Comedie-Francaise?"

"It's not possible!"

"The contract is signed."

"How did she manage it?"

"Not by her acting, you may be sure," replied Ellen, who proceeded to
relate a highly scandalous story.

"Take care," said Falempin, "she is just behind you."

"Yes, I see her! She's got a cheek of her own to show herself here,
don't you think?"

Marie-Claire whispered an extraordinary piece of news into Durville's
ear:

"They say he committed suicide. Well, there's not a word of truth in it
He didn't commit suicide at all. And the proof of it is that he is being
buried with the rites of the Church."

"What then?" inquired Durville.

"Monsieur de Ligny surprised