It was at this moment that Sister Hyacinthe arrived to announce Madame
Vetu's imminent death. Raymonde at once ran off. And Madame Desagneaux,
who was wiping her hands, began to complain of the lady-assistants, who
had all disappeared precisely on the morning when they were most wanted.
"For instance," said she, "there's Madame Volmar. I should like to know
where she can have got to. She has not been seen, even for an hour, ever
since our arrival."

"Pray leave Madame Volmar alone!" replied Madame de Jonquiere with some
asperity. "I have already told you that she is ill."

They both hastened to Madame Vetu. Ferrand stood there waiting; and
Sister Hyacinthe having asked him if there were indeed nothing to be
done, he shook his head. The dying woman, relieved by her first emesis,
now lay inert, with closed eyes. But, a second time, the frightful nausea
returned to her, and she brought up another discharge of black matter
mingled with violet-coloured blood. Then she had another short interval
of calm, during which she noticed La Grivotte, who was greedily devouring
her hunk of bread on the mattress on the floor.

"She is cured, isn't she?" the poor woman asked, feeling that she herself
was dying.

La Grivotte heard her, and exclaimed triumphantly: "Oh, yes, madame,
cured, cured, cured completely!"

For a moment Madame Vetu seemed overcome by a miserable feeling of grief,
the revolt of one who will not succumb while others continue to live. But
almost immediately she became resigned, and they heard her add very