“Well, well,” she said.  “Good-bye, everything—–­”

Then she was in the chair.  The mouthpiece—­yes; that was it....

She was furious at the trembling of her hands; twice the spring slipped from her polished coils of hair....  Then it was fixed ... and as if a breeze fanned her, her sense came back....

She found she could breathe quite easily; there was no resistance—­that was a comfort; there would be no suffocation about it....  She put out her left hand and touched the handle, conscious less of its sudden coolness than of the unbearable heat in which the room seemed almost suddenly plunged.  She could hear the drumming pulses in her temples and the roaring of the voices....  She dropped the handle once more, and with both hands tore at the loose white wrapper that she had put on this morning....

Yes, that was a little easier; she could breathe better so.  Again her fingers felt for and found the handle, but the sweat streamed from her fingers, and for an instant she could not turn the knob.  Then it yielded suddenly....

* * * * *

For one instant the sweet languid smell struck her consciousness like a blow, for she knew it as the scent of death.  Then the steady will that had borne her so far asserted itself, and she laid her hands softly in her lap, breathing deeply and easily.

She had closed her eyes at the turning of the handle, but now opened them again, curious to watch the aspect of the fading world.  She had determined to do this a week ago:  she would at least miss nothing of this unique last experience.

It seemed at first that there was no change.  There was the feathery head of the elm, the lead roof opposite, and the terrible sky above.  She noticed a pigeon, white against the blackness, soar and swoop again out of sight in an instant....

...  Then the following things happened....

There was a sudden sensation of ecstatic lightness in all her limbs; she attempted to lift a hand, and was aware that it was impossible; it was no longer hers.  She attempted to lower her eyes from that broad strip of violet sky, and perceived that that too was impossible.  Then she understood that the will had already lost touch with the body, that the crumbling world had receded to an infinite distance—­that was as she had expected, but what continued to puzzle her was that her mind was still active.  It was true that the world she had known had withdrawn itself from the dominion of consciousness, as her body had done, except, that was, in the sense of hearing, which was still strangely alert; yet there was still enough memory to be aware that there was such a world—­that there were other persons in existence; that men went about their business, knowing nothing of what had happened; but faces, names, places had all alike gone.  In fact, she was conscious of herself in such a manner as she had never been before; it seemed as if she had