ted by alcohol and at the same time cool
with the coolness of content.

"In the old days the great of earth were buried with their live slaves
with them. I but take my flimsies, my dear."

"Then you aren't afraid of death?... in the least?"

Mercedes shook her head emphatically.

"Death is brave, and good, and kind. I do not fear death. 'Tis of men I
am afraid when I am dead. So I prepare. They shall not have me when I am
dead."

Saxon was puzzled.

"They would not want you then," she said.

"Many are wanted," was the answer. "Do you know what becomes of the aged
poor who have no money for burial? They are not buried. Let me tell you.
We stood before great doors. He was a queer man, a professor who ought
to have been a pirate, a man who lectured in class rooms when he ought
to have been storming walled cities or robbing banks. He was slender,
like Don Juan. His hands were strong as steel. So was his spirit. And he
was mad, a bit mad, as all my young men have been. 'Come, Mercedes,' he
said; 'we will inspect our brethren and become humble, and glad that we
are not as they--as yet not yet. And afterward, to-night, we will dine
with a more devilish taste, and we will drink to them in golden wine
that will be the more golden for having seen them. Come, Mercedes.'

"He thrust the great doors open, and by the hand led me in. It was a sad
company. Twenty-four, that lay on marble slabs, or sat, half erect and
propped, while many young men, bright of eye, bright little knives in
their hands, glanced curiously at me from their work."

"They were dead?" Saxon interrupted to gasp.

"They were the pauper dead, my dear. 'Come, Mercedes,' said he. 'There
is more to show you that will make us glad we are alive.' And he took me
down, down to the vats. The salt vats, my dear. I was not afraid. But
it was in my mind, then, as I looked, how it would be with me when I was
dead. And there they were, so many lumps of pork. And the order came, 'A
woman; an old woman.' And the man who worked there fished in the vats.
The first was a man he drew to see. Again he fished and stirred. Again
a man. He was impatient, and grumbled at his luck. And then, up through
the brine, he drew a woman, and by the face of her she was old, and he
was satisfied."

"It is not true!" Saxon cried out.

"I have seen, my dear, I know. And I tell you fear not the wrath of God
when you are dead. Fear only the salt vats. And as I stood and looked,
and as he