ed, and the sentence was finished under the
breath. Her voice had given out. At the moment the muscles round that
handsome mouth of hers began to twitch ridiculously: she yawned and
threw up her arms, as a baby stretches itself, and stiffened in that
position, with her teeth set and her eyes rolled out of sight, and
lay there like a corpse. Florimonde had given out. As I sprang to
investigate this surprising condition of things, there came a sudden
gurgle and a groan from Maudita, who had risen in her own little bed
at my motion. I turned to see her clutching her throat, as if her
hands were the claws of a wild-cat: she was laughing and howling and
crying all at once; her face was of a dark purple tint; her body--that
lithe and supple waltzing body of hers--was bending itself rigidly
into the shape of a bow, resting by the head and the heels on the
bed--the dignified Maudita!--and the foam was standing half an inch
high on her mouth. Maudita had given out too. Of course the doctor
came presently and separated the patients, and gave them pills and
powders and bromides without end; and there were watchers to keep the
delicate creatures, whom it took three or four people to hold in
their fits, from injuring themselves; and at last sleep came with
the all-persuading chloral, and with the awaking from that powerful
chloral-given sleep came an imbecile sort of state, whose scattered
wits were full of small cunning and spites, that told secrets and told
lies, and could not pronounce names; and lips were blistered and eyes
were swollen and purblind; and Florimonde and Maudita must keep Lent
in spite of themselves. But how long do you suppose they will keep it?
and in what way? As the good formalist fasts on Friday, with dishes of
oysters escalloped deliciously on the shell, with toasted crabs,
and bass baked in port wine. Will Florimonde forego her low necks
or Maudita her blonde powder? Will there be any less excitement or
rivalry in their private theatricals and concerts for charity? Will
the flirtations be any less extraordinary at the high teas? The mind
will be perhaps a little flighty; the health will not be so firm;
there will be a good deal of morbid sorrow over imaginary misdeeds,
and none at all over real ones; there will be compensatory
church-going, with delightful little monogram-covered prayer-books.
But will the flesh be mortified by any real rough sackcloth and ashes?
It is hardly to be hoped. Neither Lent, nor r