ustling
of skirts the ladies moved toward the staircase. Mignon followed them,
crying out:

"Tell Rose that I'm waiting for her. She'll come at once, eh?"

"They do not exactly know whether the contagion is to be feared at
the beginning or near the end," Fontan was explaining to Fauchery. "A
medical I know was assuring me that the hours immediately following
death are particularly dangerous. There are miasmatic exhalations then.
Ah, but I do regret this sudden ending; I should have been so glad to
shake hands with her for the last time.

"What good would it do you now?" said the journalist.

"Yes, what good?" the two others repeated.

The crowd was still on the increase. In the bright light thrown from
shop-windows and beneath the wavering glare of the gas two living
streams were distinguishable as they flowed along the pavement,
innumerable hats apparently drifting on their surface. At that hour
the popular fever was gaining ground rapidly, and people were flinging
themselves in the wake of the bands of men in blouses. A constant
forward movement seemed to sweep the roadway, and the cry kept
recurring; obstinately, abruptly, there rang from thousands of throats:

"A BERLIN! A BERLIN! A BERLIN!"

The room on the fourth floor upstairs cost twelve francs a day,
since Rose had wanted something decent and yet not luxurious, for
sumptuousness is not necessary when one is suffering. Hung with Louis
XIII cretonne, which was adorned with a pattern of large flowers, the
room was furnished with the mahogany commonly found in hotels. On
the floor there was a red carpet variegated with black foliage. Heavy
silence reigned save for an occasional whispering sound caused by voices
in the corridor.

"I assure you we're lost. The waiter told us to turn to the right. What
a barrack of a house!"

"Wait a bit; we must have a look. Room number 401; room number 401!"

"Oh, it's this way: 405, 403. We ought to be there. Ah, at last, 401!
This way! Hush now, hush!"

The voices were silent. Then there was a slight coughing and a moment or
so of mental preparation. Then the door opened slowly, and Lucy entered,
followed by Caroline and Blanche. But they stopped directly; there were
already five women in the room; Gaga was lying back in the solitary
armchair, which was a red velvet Voltaire. In front of the fireplace
Simonne and Clarisse were now standing talking to Lea de Horn, who was
seated, while by the bed, to the left of the d