"But think of the beautiful sight it will be, Mademoiselle Carr!" remonstrated Julie. "We hear she is to wear her real wedding-dress--to be adorned with flowers and jewels. Ah, poor, poor thing!" broke off the girl, giving way to her ready tears. "But a few months ago, well and happy, and going to be married; and now, dead."
"Mary," said Rose, when they were alone, "I shall go out and find him, now I know he is in the town. Will you come?"
Mary Carr hesitated. "Would it be a proper thing, Rose, for us to go about to hotels, inquiring after gentlemen? I don't much like it."
"We have to do many things in this life that we 'don't like,'" was Rose's sarcastic answer. "Do you fear the hotels would eat you?"
"It is not the thing."
"Not for you, I dare say, so you can stay away: I'm sorry I asked. I promised that poor girl I would bring him to see her, were there any possibility of doing it; and I will."
"Then I shall go with you."
"Oh," retorted Rose.
The preparations for the great event were all but completed. The preparations! I feel nearly as ill, now that I am writing it, as I felt then; and some years have gone by. The large salon, next to the room in which she died, was laid out for the visitors, part of the furniture removed, and a barrier placed down the middle--a space being left clear at either end. It was a very long, large room, and so far suitable. She--Adeline--was placed against the wall at the far end, upright, standing, facing the company who were to come in, as if waiting to receive them and give them welcome. I cannot tell you how they fixed and supported her: I never asked then; I would as little ask now; I knew none of the details; the broad facts were enough.
As Mary Carr went creeping upstairs to put on her bonnet, she heard voices in the death-chamber, and looked in. They were dressing Adeline. The French nurse was standing before the upright corpse, supporting it on her shoulder, her own face turned aside from it; and the hairdresser stood behind, dressing the hair. Louise seemed to be helping to hold the dead weight; Susanne handed hair-pins to the man. If ever there was a revolting task on earth, that seemed one; and Mary Carr turned sick as she hastily closed the door again, and leaned against the wall to recover, if that might be, from her faintness.