The waiter who waits upon me at Lanta’s restaurant entered and told me that somebody wanted to see me. In the ante-chamber I found M. Porte, who lets the apartment at 13, Rue Saint Maur, that Charles occupied. M. Porte whispered to me to get Alice, who had followed me, out of the way. Alice returned to the salon. M. Porte said to me: “Monsieur be brave. Monsieur Charles--” “Well?” “He is dead!” Dead! I could not believe it. Charles! I leaned against the wall for support. M. Porte told me that Charles had taken a cab to go to Lanta’s, but had told the cabman to drive first to the Café de Bordeaux. Arrived at the Café de Bordeaux, the driver on opening the door of the cab, found Charles dead. He had been stricken with apoplexy. A number of blood vessels had burst. He was covered with blood, which issued from his nose and mouth. The doctor summoned pronounced him dead. I would not believe it. I said: “It is a lethargy.” I still hoped. I returned to the salon, told Alice that I was going out, but would soon be back, and ran to the Rue Saint Maur. I had hardly reached there when they brought Charles. Alas! my beloved Charles! He was dead. I went to fetch Alice. What despair! The two children were asleep. March 14.--I have read again what I wrote on the morning of the 13th about the knocking I heard during the night. Charles has been laid out in the salon on the ground floor of the house in the Rue Saint Maur. He lies on a bed covered with a sheet which the women of the house have strewn with flowers. Two neighbours, workingmen who love me, asked permission to watch by the body all night. The coroner’s physician, on uncovering the dear dead, wept. I sent to Meurice a telegram couched in the following terms: Meurice, 18 Rue Valois-- Appalling misfortune. Charles died this evening, 13th. Sudden stroke of apoplexy. Tell Victor to come back at once. The Prefect sent this telegram over the official wire. We shall take Charles with us. Meanwhile he will be placed in the depository. MM. Alexis Bouvier and Germain Casse are helping me in these heart-rending preparations. At 4 o’clock Charles was placed in the coffin. I prevented them from fetching Alice. I kissed the brow of my beloved, then the sheet of lead was soldered. Next they put the oaken lid of the coffin on and screwed it down; thus I shall never see him more. But the soul remains. If I did not believe in the soul I would not live another hour. I dined with my grandchildren, little Georges and little Jeanne. I consoled Alice. I wept with her. I said “thou” to her for the first time. March 15.--For two nights I have not slept. I could not sleep last night. Edgar Quinet came to see me last evening. On viewing Charles’s coffin in the parlor, he said: “I bid thee adieu, great mind, great talent, great soul, beautiful of face, more beautiful of thought, son of Victor Hugo!”