The little maid exclaimed:
“You must take off your shawls and your hats! Would you like to go into the parlor?”
They went out without having said a word. And Colombel followed them, limping, once more leaving the dying woman alone.
When they were relieved of their travelling garments, the women finally sat down. Then one of the cats left its window, stretched, jumped into the room and on to Mme. Cimme's knees. She began to pet it.
In the next room could be heard the voice of the dying woman, living, in this last hour, the life for which she had doubtless hoped, living her dreams themselves just when all was over for her.
Cimme, in the garden, was playing with little Joseph and the dog, enjoying himself in the whole hearted manner of a countryman, having completely forgotten the dying woman.
But suddenly he entered the house and said to the girl:
“I say, my girl, are we not going to have luncheon? What do you ladies wish to eat?”
They finally agreed on an omelet, a piece of steak with new potatoes, cheese and coffee.
As Mme. Colombel was fumbling in her pocket for her purse, Cimme stopped her, and, turning to the maid: “Have you got any money?”