to the Dubois! She went there once to see the maid I had before,
who died there. You might as well kill her! The hospital, then? No, not
there; I don't choose to have her die in that place!"

"Good God, mademoiselle, she'll be a hundred times better off there than
here. I would get her admitted at Lariboisiere, during the term of
service of a doctor who is a friend of mine. I would recommend her to an
intern, who is under great obligations to me. She would have a very
excellent Sister to nurse her in the hall to which I would have her
sent. If necessary, she could have a private room. But I am sure she
would prefer to be in a common room. It's the essential thing to do, you
see, mademoiselle. She can't stay in that chamber up there. You know
what these horrible servants' quarters are. Indeed, it's my opinion that
the health authorities ought to compel the landlords to show common
humanity in that direction; it's an outrage! The cold weather is coming;
there's no fireplace; with the window and the roof it will be like an
ice-house. You see she still keeps about. She has a marvelous stock of
courage, prodigious nervous vitality. But, in spite of everything, the
bed will claim her in a few days,--she won't get up again. Come, listen
to reason, mademoiselle. Let me speak to her, will you?"

"No, not yet. I must get used to the idea. And then, when I see her
around me I imagine she isn't going to die so quickly as all that.
There's time enough. Later, we'll see about it,--yes, later."

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, if I venture to say to you that you are quite
capable of making yourself sick nursing her."

"I? Oh! as for me!" And Mademoiselle de Varandeuil made a gesture
indicating that her life was of no consequence.

LXII

Amid Mademoiselle de Varandeuil's desperate anxiety concerning her
maid's health, she became conscious of a strange feeling, a sort of fear
in the presence of the new, unfamiliar, mysterious creature that
sickness had made of Germinie. Mademoiselle had a sense of discomfort
beside that hollow, ghostly face, which was almost unrecognizable in its
implacable rigidity, and which seemed to return to itself, to recover
consciousness, only furtively, by fits and starts, in the effort to
produce a pallid smile. The old woman had seen many people die; her
memories of many painful years recalled the expressions of many dear,
doomed faces, of many faces that were sad and desolate and
grief-stricken in de