At the grave of the lady lingered a man, apparently overcome with grief; at the grave of the man—a lady, who seemed equally overcome. Their adieus were lengthened at the graves until all the attendants had disappeared. By chance, the grief of the two parties seemed to show the same amount of persistent sorrow, and of lingering regard: thus it happened that in retracing their slow and saddened steps toward the main entrance, they met in the grand alley face to face. They exchanged a look of sorrow, and an exclamation of surprise.
“You, madame?”
“Vous, monsieur?”
“But this is very strange,” continued the gentleman, “is it not? We have met so rarely, since we broke our marriage contract ten years ago!”
“The chance which has led me here is a very sad one, monsieur,” and madame says it in very dolorous tones.
“It is as much for me; I have followed to the grave a person very dear to me.”
“Ah,” returns madame, “she is dead! I, too, have lost my dearest friend,” and she sobs.
“I beg you would accept, madame, my sincerest sympathy.”
“And you too, sir; believe me, my heart bleeds for you.”
Upon thus much of mournful interchange of grief, supervenes a silence—only broken by the low steps of the parties, and by occasional sobs of lament.