“Zalia, why won’t you speak to me?... And what are all these people doing here?... I don’t want any one to help me die!... I and Zalia.... I and Zalia.... Look, how beautiful! Zalia, the procession’s going up the wall there.... Why don’t you look?... It’s so beautiful!... And I, I’m the only ugly one in it....”
“He’s wandering,” whispered Treze.
“And what’s that chap doing here, Zalia?”
“It’s I, Zeen, I: Warten the spectacle-man.”
His eyes fell to again and his cheeks again blew the breath through the little slit of his mouth. It rattled; and the fever rose.
“It’ll be to-night,” said Treze.
“Where can Virginie be? She’ll come too late.”
“Virginie is better than three doctors or a priest either,” thought Mite.
“Zalia, I think I’d get out the candle.”
Zalia went to the chest and got out the candle.