They heard from the next room the voice of agony, living, without doubt, in this last hour, the life she had expected, living her dreams at the very moment when all would be finished for her. Cimme, in the garden, played with the little Joseph and the dog, amusing himself much, with the gaiety of a great man in the country, without thought of the dying woman. But suddenly he entered, addressing the maid: "Say, then, my girl, are you going to give us some luncheon? What are you going to eat, ladies?" They decided upon an omelet of fine herbs, a piece of fillet with new potatoes, a cheese, and a cup of coffee. And as Madame Columbel was fumbling in her pocket for her purse: Cimme stopped her, and turning to the maid said, "You need money?" and she answered: "Yes, sir." "How much?" "Fifteen francs." "Very well. Make haste, now, my girl, because I am getting hungry." Madame Cimme, looking out at the climbing flowers bathed in the sunlight, and at two pigeons making love on the roof opposite, said, with a wounded air: "It is unfortunate to have come for so sad an event. It would be nice in the country, to-day." Her sister sighed without response, and Columbel murmured, moved perhaps by the thought of a walk: "My leg plagues me awfully." Little Joseph and the dog made a terrible noise, one shouting with joy and the other barking violently. They played at hide-and-seek around the three flower-beds, running after each other like mad. The dying woman continued to call her children, chatting with each, imagining that she was dressing them, that she caressed them, that she was teaching them to read: "Come, Simon, repeat, A, B, C, D. You do not say it well; see, D, D, D, do you hear? Repeat, then----" Cimme declared: "It is curious what she talks about at this time." Then said Madame Columbel: "It would be better, perhaps, to go in there." But Cimme dissuaded her from it: "Why go in, since we are not able to do anything for her? Besides we are as well off here." No one insisted. Madame observed the two green birds called inseparable. She remarked pleasantly upon this singular fidelity, and blamed men for not imitating these little creatures. Cimme looked at his wife and laughed, singing with a bantering air, "Tra-la-la, Tra-la-la," as if to say he could tell some things about her fidelity to him. Columbel, taken with cramps in his stomach, struck the floor with his cane. The other cat entered, tail in the air. They did not sit down at table until one o'clock. When he had tasted the wine, Columbel, whom some one had recommended to drink only choice Bordeaux, called the servant: "Say, is there nothing better than this in the cellar?" "Yes, sir; there is some of the wine that was served to you when you were here before." "Oh, well, go and bring three bottles."