the snow beat in our
faces; the houses that we passed were closed for the night. It seemed to
me that if the people who slept there, warmly beneath the sheets, knew
how cold we were outside, they would have opened their doors to us.

Vitalis walked slower and slower; when I spoke to him he made a sign to
me to be silent. We were now nearing the city. Vitalis stopped. I knew
that he had come to the end of his strength.

"Shall I knock at one of the doors?" I asked.

"No, they will not let us in. They are gardeners who live here. They
supply the market. They would not get up at this hour to take us in. Let
us go on."

But he had more will than strength. After a moment he stopped again.

"I must rest a little," he said, feebly; "I can't go on."

There was a gate leading to a big garden. The wind had blown a lot of
straw, that covered a manure heap near the gate, into the street.

"I am going to sit here," said Vitalis.

"You said that if we sat down we should get too cold to get up again."

He made no reply, but signed for me to heap up the straw against the
door; then he fell, rather than sat down upon it. His teeth chattered
and all his body shook.

"Bring some more straw," he said; "with a lot of straw we can keep the
wind from us."

The wind, yes, but not the cold. When I had gathered up all the straw
that I could, I sat down beside Vitalis.

"Come quite close to me," he said, "and lift Capi on your lap. He will
give you some warmth from his body."

Vitalis was ill. Did he know how ill? As I crept close up against him,
he bent over and kissed me. That was the second time he had kissed me.
Alas! it was the last.

Scarcely had I cuddled up against Vitalis than I felt my eyes close. I
tried to keep them open, but I could not. I pinched my arms, but there
was no feeling in my flesh. On my legs, which were drawn up to my chest,
Capi slept already. The wind blew the wisps of straw upon us like dried
leaves that fall from a tree. There was not a soul in the street, and
around us was the silence of death.

This silence frightened me. Of what was I afraid? I did not know, but a
vague fear came over me. It seemed to me that I was dying there. And
then I felt very sad. I thought of Chavanon, of poor Mother Barberin.
Must I die without seeing her again, and our little house, and my little
garden! Then, I was no longer cold; it seemed that I was back in my
little garden. The sun was shining and was so warm. The jo