wall at its head. On
the opposite side of the room, on a similar shelf, was another shrouded
figure--the body of a workingman, found that morning on the outskirts
of the town, with an empty bottle which had contained carbolic acid by
its side. The LEICHENFRAU, the public layer--out of the dead, told them
this; it was she, too, who drew back the sheet from Avery's face in
order that they might see it. She was a rosy, apple-cheeked woman, and
her vivid colouring was thrown into relief by the long black cloak and
the close-fitting, black poke-bonnet that she wore. Maurice, for whom
the dead as such had no attraction, turned from his contemplation of
the stark-stretched figure on the shelf, to watch the living woman. The
exuberance of her vitality had something almost insultant in the
presence of these two rigid forms, from whose faces the colour had fled
for ever. Her eyes were alert like those of a bird; her voice and
movements were loud and bustling. In thought he compared her to a
carrion-crow. It was this woman's calling to live on the dead; she
hastened from house to house to cleanse poor, inanimate bodies, whose
dignity had departed from them. He wondered idly whether she gloated
over the announcements of fresh deaths, and mentally sped the dying.
Did she talk of good seasons and of slack seasons, and look forward to
the spread of contagious disease?--Well, at least, she throve on her
trade, as a butcher thrives by continually handling meat.

Louise had eyes only for the face of the dead girl. She stood gazing at
it, with a curious absorption, but without a spark of feeling. The
LEICHENFRAU, having finished tying up a basket, crossed the room and
joined her.

"EINE SCHONE LEICHE!" she said, and nodded, appreciating the fact that
a stranger should admire what was partly her own handiwork.

It was true; Avery's face looked as though it were modelled in wax. She
had not been in the water for more than half an hour, had said the
doctor, not long enough to be disfigured in any way. Only her hair
remained dank and matted, and, although it was laid straight out over
the bolster, it would probably never be quite dry again. No matter,
continued the woman; on the morrow would come the barber, a good friend
of hers, to dress it for the tomb; he would bring tongs and irons, and
other heating-apparatus with him, and, for certain, would make a good
job of it, so skilled was he: he had all the latest fashions in
hair-dressing a