He rang for the bill.
We parted at the door of my hotel. In the carriage we had exchanged one long, long kiss. At the last moment I wanted to alter the programme, go with him to his hotel to assist in his final arrangements, and then see him off at early morning at the station. But he refused. He said he could not bear to part from me in public. Perhaps it was best so. Just as I turned away he put a packet into my hand. It contained seven banknotes for ten thousand francs each, money that it had been my delight to lend him from time to time. Foolish, vain, scrupulous boy! I knew not where he had obtained—
It is now evening. Diaz is on the sea. While writing those last lines I was attacked by fearful pains in the right side, and cramp, so that I could not finish. I can scarcely write now. I have just seen the old English doctor. He says I have appendicitis, perhaps caused by pips of strawberries. And that unless I am operated on at once—And that even if—He is telephoning to the hospital. Diaz! No; I shall come safely through the affair. Without me Diaz would fall again. I see that now. And I have had no child. I must have a child. Even that girl in the blue peignoir had a—Chance is a strange—
Extract translated from ‘Le Temps,’ the Paris Evening Paper.
OBSEQUIES OF MISS PELL (sic).
The obsequies of Mademoiselle Pell, the celebrated English poetess, and author of the libretto of La Vallière, were celebrated this morning at eleven o’clock in the Church of St. Honoré d’Eylau.
The chief mourners were the doctor who assisted at the last moments of Mademoiselle Pell, and M. Villedo, director of the Opéra-Comique.
Among the wreaths we may cite those of the Association of Dramatic Artists, of Madame Morenita, of the management of the Opéra-Comique, and of the artists of the Opéra-Comique.
Mass was said by a vicar of the parish, and general absolution given by M. le Curé Marbeau.