ed in too
dangerous a state to be removed to the principal hospitals.

Two days had elapsed since Rodin's visit to Marshal Simon's daughters.
Shortly after he had been expelled, the Princess de Saint-Dizier had
entered to see them, under the cloak of being a house-to-house visitor to
collect funds for the cholera sufferers.

Choosing the moment when Dagobert, deceived by her lady-like demeanor,
had withdrawn, she counselled the twins that it was their duty to go and
see their governess, whom she stated to be in the hospital we now
describe.

It was about ten o'clock in the morning. The persons who had watched
during the night by the sick people, in the hospital established in the
Rue du Mont-Blanc, were about to be relieved by other voluntary
assistants.

"Well, gentlemen," said one of those newly arrived, "how are we getting
on? Has there been any decrease last night in the number of the sick?"

"Unfortunately, no; but the doctors think the contagion has reached its
height."

"Then there is some hope of seeing it decrease."

"And have any of the gentlemen, whose places we come to take, been
attacked by the disease?"

"We came eleven strong last night; we are only nine now."

"That is bad. Were these two persons taken off rapidly?"

"One of the victims, a young man of twenty-five years of age, a cavalry
officer on furlough, was struck as it were by lightning. In less than a
quarter of an hour he was dead. Though such facts are frequent, we were
speechless with horror."

"Poor young man!"

"He had a word of cordial encouragement and hope for every one. He had
so far succeeded in raising the spirits of the patients, that some of
them who were less affected by the cholera than by the fear of it, were
able to quit the hospital nearly well."

"What a pity! So good a young man! Well, he died gloriously; it requires
as much courage as on the field of battle."

"He had only one rival in zeal and courage, and that is a Young priest,
with an angelic countenance, whom they call the Abbe Gabriel. He is
indefatigable; he hardly takes an hour's rest, but runs from one to the
other, and offers himself to everybody. He forgets nothing. The
consolation; which he offers come from the depths of his soul, and are
not mere formalities in the way of his profession. No, no, I saw him weep
over a poor woman, whose eyes he had closed after a dreadful agony. Oh,
if all priests were like him!"

"No doubt, a good priest is most