"In five minutes it will be done."

The tall building, which faced the street, was separated by a narrow
court from that which contained the retreat of the two sisters, and was
so much higher, that when the sun had once disappeared behind its lofty
roof, the garret soon became dark. The light, passing through the dirty
panes of the small window, fell faintly on the blue and white patchwork
of the old mattress, on which Mother Bunch was now stretched, covered
with rags. Leaning on her left arm, with her chin resting in the palm
of her hand, she looked after her sister with an expression of
heart-rending grief. Cephyse, kneeling over the chafing-dish, with her
face close to the black charcoal, above which already played a little
bluish flame, exerted herself to blow the newly-kindled fire, which was
reflected on the pale countenance of the unhappy girl.

The silence was deep. No sound was heard but the panting breath of
Cephyse, and, at intervals, the slight crackling of the charcoal, which
began to burn, and already sent forth a faint sickening vapor. Cephyse,
seeing the fire completely lighted, and feeling already a little dizzy,
rose from the ground, and said to her sister, as she approached her, "It
is done!"

"Sister," answered Mother Bunch, kneeling on the mattress, whilst
Cephyse remained standing, "how shall we place ourselves? I should like
to be near you to the last."

"Stop!" said Cephyse, half executing the measures of which she spoke,
"I will sit on the mattress with my back against the wall. Now, little
sister, you lie there. Lean your head upon my knees, and give me your
hand. Are you comfortable so?"

"Yes--but I cannot see you."

"That is better. It seems there is a moment--very short, it is true--in
which one suffers a good deal. And," added Cephyse, in a voice of
emotion, "it will be as well not to see each other suffer."

"You are right, Cephyse."

"Let me kiss that beautiful hair for the last time," said Cephyse, as
she pressed her lips to the silky locks which crowned the hunchback's
pale and melancholy countenance, "and then--we will remain very quiet."

"Sister, your hand," said the sewing-girl; "for the last time, your
hand--and then, as you say, we will move no more. We shall not have to
wait long, I think, for I begin to feel dizzy. And you, sister?"

"Not yet," replied Cephyse; "I only perceive the smell of the charcoal."

"Do you know where they will bury us?" said Mother Bunch, af