oor, Rose Mignon, perched
on the edge of a chest, sat gazing fixedly at the body where it lay
hidden in the shadow of the curtains. All the others had their hats and
gloves on and looked as if they were paying a call: she alone sat there
with bare hands and untidy hair and cheeks rendered pale by three nights
of watching. She felt stupid in the face of this sudden death, and her
eyes were swollen with weeping. A shaded lamp standing on the corner of
the chest of drawers threw a bright flood of light over Gaga.

"What a sad misfortune, is it not?" whispered Lucy as she shook hands
with Rose. "We wanted to bid her good-by."

And she turned round and tried to catch sight of her, but the lamp
was too far off, and she did not dare bring it nearer. On the bed lay
stretched a gray mass, but only the ruddy chignon was distinguishable
and a pale blotch which might be the face. Lucy added:

"I never saw her since that time at the Gaite, when she was at the end
of the grotto."

At this Rose awoke from her stupor and smiled as she said:

"Ah, she's changed; she's changed."

Then she once more lapsed into contemplation and neither moved nor
spoke. Perhaps they would be able to look at her presently! And with
that the three women joined the others in front of the fireplace.
Simonne and Clarisse were discussing the dead woman's diamonds in low
tones. Well, did they really exist--those diamonds? Nobody had seen
them; it must be a bit of humbug. But Lea de Horn knew someone who knew
all about them. Oh, they were monster stones! Besides, they weren't
all; she had brought back lots of other precious property from
Russia--embroidered stuffs, for instance, valuable knickknacks, a gold
dinner service, nay, even furniture. "Yes, my dear, fifty-two boxes,
enormous cases some of them, three truckloads of them!" They were all
lying at the station. "Wasn't it hard lines, eh?--to die without
even having time to unpack one's traps?" Then she had a lot of tin,
besides--something like a million! Lucy asked who was going to inherit
it all. Oh, distant relations--the aunt, without doubt! It would be a
pretty surprise for that old body. She knew nothing about it yet, for
the sick woman had obstinately refused to let them warn her, for she
still owed her a grudge over her little boy's death. Thereupon they were
all moved to pity about the little boy, and they remembered seeing him
at the races. Oh, it was a wretchedly sickly baby; it looked so old