ing that dies in woman, coquetry,
still survived; two or three times she had the cab stopped before the
drapers' shops to look at the display in the windows.

On entering the ward indicated in the letter of admission Mimi felt a
terrible pang at her heart, something within her told her that it was
between these bare and leprous walls that her life was to end. She
exerted the whole of the will left her to hide the mournful impression
that had chilled her.

When she was put to bed she gave Rodolphe a final kiss and bid him
goodbye, bidding him come and see her the next Sunday which was a
visitors' day.

"It does not smell very nice here," said she to him, "bring me some
flowers, some violets, there are still some about."

"Yes," said Rodolphe, "goodbye till Sunday."

And he drew together the curtains of her bed. On hearing the departing
steps of her lover, Mimi was suddenly seized with an almost delirious
attack of fever. She suddenly opened the curtains, and leaning half out
of bed, cried in a voice broken with tears:

"Rodolphe, take me home, I want to go away."

The sister of charity hastened to her and tried to calm her.

"Oh!" said Mimi, "I am going to die here."

On Sunday morning, the day he was to go and see Mimi, Rodolphe
remembered that he had promised her some violets. With poetic and loving
superstition he went on foot in horrible weather to look for the flowers
his sweetheart had asked him for, in the woods of Aulnay and Fontenay,
where he had so often been with her. The country, so lively and joyful
in the sunshine of the bright days of June and July, he found chill and
dreary. For two hours he beat the snow covered thickets, lifting the
bushes with a stick, and ended by finding a few tiny blossoms, and as it
happened, in a part of the wood bordering the Le Plessis pool, which had
been their favorite spot when they came into the country.

Passing through the village of Chatillon to get back to Paris, Rodolphe
met in the square before the church a baptismal procession, in which he
recognized one of his friends who was the godfather, with a singer from
the opera.

"What the deuce are you doing here?" asked the friend, very much
surprised to see Rodolphe in those parts.

The poet told him what had happened.

The young fellow, who had known Mimi, was greatly saddened at this
story, and feeling in his pocket took out a bag of christening
sweetmeats and handed it to Rodolphe.

"Poor Mimi, give he