“Sister, your hand,” said the sewing-girl; “for the last time, your hand—­and then, as you say, we will move no more.  We shall not have to wait long, I think, for I begin to feel dizzy.  And you, sister?”

“Not yet,” replied Cephyse; “I only perceive the smell of the charcoal.”

“Do you know where they will bury us?” said Mother Bunch, after a moment’s silence.

“No.  Why do you ask?”

“Because I should like it to be in Pere-la-Chaise.  I went there once with Agricola and his mother.  What a fine view there is!—­and then the trees, the flowers, the marble—­do you know the dead are better lodged—­than the living—­and—­”

“What is the matter, sister?” said Cephyse to her companion, who had stopped short, after speaking in a slow voice.

“I am giddy—­my temples throb,” was the answer.  “How do you feel?”

“I only begin to be a little faint; it is strange—­the effect is slower with me than you.”

“Oh! you see,” said Mother Bunch, trying to smile, “I was always so forward.  At school, do you remember, they said I was before the others.  And, now it happens again.”

“I hope soon to overtake you this time,” said Cephyse.

What astonished the sisters was quite natural.  Though weakened by sorrow and misery, the Bacchanal Queen, with a constitution as robust as the other was frail and delicate, was necessarily longer than her sister in feeling the effects of the deleterious vapor.  After a moment’s silence, Cephyse resumed, as she laid her hand on the head she still held upon her knees, “You say nothing, sister!  You suffer, is it not so?”

“No,” said Mother Bunch, in a weak voice; “my eyelids are heavy as lead—­I am getting benumbed—­I feel that I speak more slowly—­but I have no acute pain.  And you, sister?”

“Whilst you were speaking, I felt giddy—­and now my temples throb violently.”

“As it was with me just now.  One would think it was more painful and difficult to die.”

Then after a moment’s silence, the hunchback said suddenly to her sister, “Do you think that Agricola will much regret me, and think of me for some time?”

“How can you ask?” said Cephyse, in a tone of reproach.

“You are right,” answered Mother Bunch, mildly; “there is a bad feeling in such a doubt—­but if you knew—­”

“What, sister?”

The other hesitated for an instant, and then said, dejectedly, “Nothing.”  Afterwards, she added, “Fortunately, I die convinced that he will never miss me.  He married a charming girl, who loves him, I am sure, and will make him perfectly happy.”

As she pronounced these last words, the speaker’s voice grew fainter and fainter.  Suddenly she started and said to Cephyse, in a trembling, almost frightened tone, “Sister!  Hold me in your arms—­I am afraid—­everything looks dark—­everything is turning round.”  And the unfortunate girl, raising herself a little, hid her face in her sister’s bosom, and threw his weak arms around her.