When Rodolphe got to the hospital, Mimi, who could not move, threw her arms about him in a look.
"Ah, there are my flowers!" said she, with the smile of satisfied desire.
Rodolphe related his pilgrimage into that part of the country that had been the paradise of their loves.
"Dear flowers," said the poor girl, kissing the violets. The sweetmeats greatly pleased her too. "I am not quite forgotten, then. The young fellows are good. Ah! I love all your friends," said she to Rodolphe.
This interview was almost merry. Schaunard and Colline had rejoined Rodolphe. The nurses had almost to turn them out, for they had overstayed visiting time.
"Goodbye," said Mimi. "Thursday without fail, and come early."
The following day on coming home at night, Rodolphe received a letter from a medical student, a dresser at the hospital, to whose care he had recommended the invalid. The letter only contained these words:—
"My dear friend, I have very bad news for you. No. 8 is dead. This morning on going through the ward I found her bed vacant."
Rodolphe dropped on to a chair and did not shed a tear. When Marcel came in later he found his friend in the same stupefied attitude. With a gesture the poet showed him the latter.
"Poor girl!" said Marcel.