beside me, for I feel as if the
earthworms were already devouring my body. We passed the night in
weeping and talking of old times. Ah! How sad it is, my friend, to see
behind one the happiness one has formerly passed by without noticing it.
I feel as if I had fire in my chest, and when I move my limbs it seems
as if they were going to snap. Hand me my dress, I want to cut the cards
to see whether Rodolphe will bring in any money. I should like to have a
good breakfast with you, like we used to; that would not hurt me. God
cannot make me worse than I am. See," she added, showing Marcel the pack
of cards she had cut, "Spades--it is the color of death. Clubs," she
added more gaily, "yes we shall have some money."

Marcel did not know what to say in presence of the lucid delirium of
this poor creature, who already felt, as she said, the worms of the
grave.

In an hour's time Rodolphe was back. He was accompanied by Schaunard and
Gustave Colline. The musician wore a summer jacket. He had sold his
winter suit to lend money to Rodolphe on learning that Mimi was ill.
Colline on his side had gone and sold some books. If he could have got
anyone to buy one of his arms or legs he would have agreed to the
bargain rather than part with his cherished volumes. But Schaunard had
pointed out to him that nothing could be done with his arms or his
legs.

Mimi strove to recover her gaiety to greet her old friends.

"I am no longer naughty," said she to them, "and Rodolphe has forgiven
me. If he will keep me with him I will wear wooden shoes and a mob-cap,
it is all the same to me. Silk is certainly not good for my health," she
added with a frightful smile.

At Marcel's suggestion, Rodolphe had sent for one of his friends who had
just passed as a doctor. It was the same who had formerly attended
Francine. When he came they left him alone with Mimi.

Rodolphe, informed by Marcel, was already aware of the danger run by his
mistress. When the doctor had spoken to Mimi, he said to Rodolphe: "You
cannot keep her here. Save for a miracle she is doomed. You must send
her to the hospital. I will give you a letter for La Pitie. I know one
of the house surgeons there; she will be well looked after. If she
lasts till the spring we may perhaps pull her through, but if she stays
here she will be dead in a week."

"I shall never dare propose it to her," said Rodolphe.

"I spoke to her about it," replied the doctor, "and she agreed. Tomorrow
I