“He’s happier under the ground,” said Blanche.

“Bah, and so’s she!” added Caroline.  “Life isn’t so funny!”

In that gloomy room melancholy ideas began to take possession of their imaginations.  They felt frightened.  It was silly to stand talking so long, but a longing to see her kept them rooted to the spot.  It was very hot—­the lamp glass threw a round, moonlike patch of light upon the ceiling, but the rest of the room was drowned in steamy darkness.  Under the bed a deep plate full of phenol exhaled an insipid smell.  And every few moments tiny gusts of wind swelled the window curtains.  The window opened on the boulevard, whence rose a dull roaring sound.

“Did she suffer much?” asked Lucy, who was absorbed in contemplation of the clock, the design of which represented the three Graces as nude young women, smiling like opera dancers.

Gaga seemed to wake up.

“My word, yes!  I was present when she died.  I promise you it was not at all pleasant to see.  Why, she was taken with a shuddering fit—­”

But she was unable to proceed with her explanation, for a cry arose outside: 

“A Berlin!  A Berlin!  A Berlin!”

And Lucy, who felt suffocated, flung wide the window and leaned upon the sill.  It was pleasant there; the air came fresh from the starry sky.  Opposite her the windows were all aglow with light, and the gas sent dancing reflections over the gilt lettering of the shop signs.

Beneath these, again, a most amusing scene presented itself.  The streams of people were discernible rolling torrentwise along the sidewalks and in the roadway, where there was a confused procession of carriages.  Everywhere there were vast moving shadows in which lanterns and lampposts gleamed like sparks.  But the band which now came roaring by carried torches, and a red glow streamed down from the direction of the Madeleine, crossed the mob like a trail of fire and spread out over the heads in the distance like a vivid reflection of a burning house.  Lucy called Blanche and Caroline, forgetting where she was and shouting: 

“Do come!  You get a capital view from this window!”

They all three leaned out, greatly interested.  The trees got in their way, and occasionally the torches disappeared under the foliage.  They tried to catch a glimpse of the men of their own party below, but a protruding balcony hid the door, and they could only make out Count Muffat, who looked like a dark parcel thrown down on the bench where he sat.  He was still burying his face in his handkerchief.  A carriage had stopped in front, and yet another woman hurried up, in whom Lucy recognized Maria Blond.  She was not alone; a stout man got down after her.

“It’s that thief of a Steiner,” said Caroline.  “How is it they haven’t sent him back to Cologne yet?  I want to see how he looks when he comes in.”

They turned round, but when after the lapse of ten minutes Maria Blond appeared, she was alone.  She had twice mistaken the staircase.  And when Lucy, in some astonishment, questioned her: