"You will tell my mother to take care of the little lad." After another pause, the following words escaped him:— "The Sister would have said a prayer." Shortly after, he asked:— "What o'clock is it?" "Eleven." "Time is not up yet;... I have still some hours to live.... I shall last till to-morrow." A little later he again inquired the time, and crossing his hands on his breast, in a faint voice he called Malivoire and tried to speak to him. But Malivoire could not catch the words he muttered. Then the death-rattle began, and lasted till morn.... A candle lighted up the room. It burnt slowly, it lighted up the four white walls on which the coarse ochre paint of the door and of the two cupboards cut a sharp contrast.... On the iron bedstead with its dimity curtains, a sheet lay thrown over a motionless body, molding the form as wet linen might do, indicating with the inflexibility of an immutable line the rigidity, from the tip of the toes to the sharp outline of the face, of what it covered. Near a white wooden table Malivoire, seated in a large wicker arm-chair, watched and dozed, half slumbering and yet not quite asleep. In the silence of the room nothing could be heard but the ticking of the dead man's watch. From behind the door something seemed gently to move and advance, the key turned in the lock, and Sister Philomène stood beside the bed. Without looking at Malivoire, without seeing him, she knelt down and prayed in the attitude of a kneeling marble statue; and the folds of her gown were as motionless as the sheet that covered the dead man. At the end of a quarter of an hour she rose, walked away without once looking round, and disappeared. The next day, awaking at the hollow sound of the coffin knocking against the narrow stairs, Malivoire vaguely recalled the night's apparition, and wondered if he had dreamed it; and going mechanically up to the table by the bedside, he sought for the lock of hair he had cut off for Barnier's mother: the lock of hair had vanished. [Pg 6561] THE AWAKENING From 'Renée Mauperin' A little stage had been erected at the end of the Mauperins' drawing-room. The footlights were hidden behind a screen of foliage and flowering shrubs. Renée, with the help of her drawing-master, had painted the curtain, which represented a view on the banks of the Seine. On either side of the stage hung a bill, on which were these words, written by hand:— LA BRICHE THEATRE THIS EVENING, 'The Caprice,' To conclude with 'Harlequin, A Bigamist.' And then followed the names of the actors.