who came to see her twice a year, the Cimmes and the
Colombels, her two sisters having married, one of them a florist and the
other a retired merchant. The Cimmes had no children; the Colombels had
three: Henri, Pauline and Joseph. Henri was twenty, Pauline seventeen and
Joseph only three.

There was no love lost between the old maid and her relatives.

In the spring of the year 1882 Queen Hortense suddenly fell sick. The
neighbors called in a physician, whom she immediately drove out. A priest
then having presented himself, she jumped out of bed, in order to throw
him out of the house.

The young servant, in despair, was brewing her some tea.

After lying in bed for three days the situation appeared so serious that
the barrel-maker, who lived next door, to the right, acting on advice
from the doctor, who had forcibly returned to the house, took it upon
himself to call together the two families.

They arrived by the same train, towards ten in the morning, the Colombels
bringing little Joseph with them.

When they got to the garden gate, they saw the servant seated in the
chair against the wall, crying.

The dog was sleeping on the door mat in the broiling sun; two cats, which
looked as though they might be dead, were stretched out in front of the
two windows, their eyes closed, their paws and tails stretched out at
full length.

A big clucking hen was parading through the garden with a whole regiment
of yellow, downy chicks, and a big cage hanging from the wall and covered
with pimpernel, contained a population of birds which were chirping away
in the warmth of this beautiful spring morning.

In another cage, shaped like a chalet, two lovebirds sat motionless side
by side on their perch.

M. Cimme, a fat, puffing person, who always entered first everywhere,
pushing aside everyone else, whether man or woman, when it was necessary,
asked:

"Well, Celeste, aren't things going well?"

The little servant moaned through her tears:

"She doesn't even recognize me any more. The doctor says it's the end."

Everybody looked around.

Mme. Cimme and Mme. Colombel immediately embraced each other, without
saying a word. They locked very much alike, having always worn their hair
in Madonna bands, and loud red French cashmere shawls.

Cimme turned to his brother-in-law, a pale, sal, low-complexioned, thin
man, wasted by stomach complaints, who limped badly, and said in a
serious tone of voice:

"Gad! It was high