Sidoine kissed the second joint of the ring-finger of Coquerette, and this other word issued from his lips: "Funereal!" Coquerette thought he said: "I love you, annular finger of Coquerette," and she was content. Sidoine kissed the joint of the middle finger of Coquerette, and he said nothing. Coquerette thought the gentle familiar lizard was climbing along her hand, along her wrist, along her bare arm: "Gracious! how far will he go? I am going to keep my eyes closed, I will see very well." But the caress stopped, startled; Sidoine stood up, pale; he gazed at the bed as one gazes at an unexpected and melancholy spectacle. "The magnificence is funereal, and my heart is terrified." The words had joined and from the magic union was born the real unity contained in their elements. It really was a funereal magnificence: Three wax-tapers were lighted at the heads of the bed and in their gleam the white figure seemed to be smiling at angels, like little children in their cradles. A great black crucifix appeared under her crossed hands; flowers were scattered, roses on her breast, lilies on her body and violets at her feet. "No, she is not dead!" cried Sidoine, kneeling near his mistress. "Speak, you are not dead? Open your eyes, if you recognize me? What have you done? Why these lights, why all these flowers, you are going to give her a headache." It was just a year, the twenty-eighth of December last, since he had come to her home: it was the same funereal magnificence and he had uttered the same words, shed the same tears. He took the hand of the dead woman and raised it to his lips, but the affright of a sudden shock threw him to the ground: she was cold. Coquerette, her large blue eyes wide opened, had followed with amazement the phases of the terrifying vision. She knew Sidoine's history and understood that a stroke of love madness had touched her friend at the-very hour of the poignant anniversary. The little frivolous and laughing woman felt a strange thrill. She rose palpitating, threw herself upon Sidoine, as a lioness on her prey, and bit him on the cheek. Sidoine opened his eyes: "Ah! you are mine, mine only, mine," cried Coquerette kissing, bewildered, the impression of her teeth, "I have marked you with my sign, you belong to me. I love you, Sidoine, I love you even to death. Ah! I have never felt anything like it!" She lifted him up, made him sit down, placed herself at his feet. "She is dead," said Sidoine, still giddy, but recovered, "she is dead, but I will love her eternally." "And me? And me?" Sidoine did not reply. "And me? And me?" Sidoine gently kissed her brow. "And me? And me?" "She is dead!" said Sidoine. "I will die," said Coquerette. "For what reason?" asked Sidoine. "So as to be loved," said Coquerette. CHAPTER XXI THE MYSTIC BARK "L'épouvantable misère de ceux qui vivent sans amour." Rusbrock l'Admirable, _De la Jouissance chaste_.