eached Lariboisiere, she passed the concierge,--a stout man
reeking with life as one reeks with wine,--passed through the corridors
where pallid convalescents were gliding hither and thither, and rang at
a door, veiled with white curtains, at the extreme end of the hospital.
The door was opened: she found herself in a parlor, lighted by two
windows, where a plaster cast of the Virgin stood upon an altar, between
two views of Vesuvius, which seemed to shiver against the bare wall.
Behind her, through an open door, came the voices of Sisters and little
girls chattering together, a clamor of youthful voices and fresh
laughter, the natural gayety of a cheery room where the sun frolics with
children at play.

Mademoiselle asked to speak with the _mother_ of Salle Sainte-Josephine.
A short, half-deformed Sister, with a kind, homely face, a face alight
with the grace of God, came in answer to her request. Germinie had died
in her arms. "She hardly suffered at all," the Sister told mademoiselle;
"she was sure that she was better; she felt relieved; she was full of
hope. About seven this morning, just as her bed was being made, she
suddenly began vomiting blood, and passed away without knowing that she
was dying." The Sister added that she had said nothing, asked for
nothing, expressed no wish.

Mademoiselle rose, delivered from the horrible thoughts she had had.
Germinie had been spared all the tortures of the death-agony that she
had dreamed of. Mademoiselle was grateful for that death by the hand of
God which gathers in the soul at a single stroke.

As she was going away an attendant came to her and said: "Will you be
kind enough to identify the body?"

_The body!_ The words gave mademoiselle a terrible shock. Without
awaiting her reply, the attendant led the way to a high yellow door,
over which was written: _Amphitheatre_. He knocked; a man in shirt
sleeves, with a pipe in his mouth, opened the door and bade them wait a
moment.

Mademoiselle waited. Her thoughts terrified her. Her imagination was on
the other side of that awful door. She tried to anticipate what she was
about to see. And her mind was so filled with confused images, with
fanciful alarms, that she shuddered at the thought of entering the room,
of recognizing that disfigured face among a number of others, if,
indeed, she could recognize it! And yet she could not tear herself away;
she said to herself that she should never see her again!

The man with th