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 him with Nanteuil and killed him." "Come, come!" "I can assure you that I am accurately informed." The conversations were becoming animated and familiar. "So you are here, you wicked old sinner!" "The box-office receipts are falling off already." "Stella has succeeded in getting herself proposed by seventeen Deputies, nine of whom are members of the Budget Commission." "Yet I told Herschell, 'That little Bocquet fellow isn't the man for you. What you need is a man of standing.'" When the bier, borne by the undertaker's men, passed through the west door, the delicious rays of a winter sun fell on the faces of the women and the roses lying on the coffin. Grouped on either side of the parvis, a few young men from the great colleges sought the faces of celebrities; the little factory girls from the neighbouring workshops, standing in couples with arms round each other's waists, contemplated the actresses' dresses. And standing against the porch on their aching feet, a couple of tramps, accustomed to living under the open sky, whether mild or sullen, slowly shifted their dejected gaze, while a college lad gazed with rapture at the fiery tresses which coiled like flames on the nape of Fagette's neck.