La Grivotte seemed to be asleep, but a continuous hiccoughing shook her, and a tiny streamlet of blood dribbled from her mouth.

Madame Vetu had again vomited, Elise Rouquet no longer thought of hiding the frightful sore open on her face.

And from the man yonder, breathing hard, there still came a lugubrious rattle, as though he were at every moment on the point of expiring.

In vain did Madame de Jonquiere and Sister Hyacinthe lavish their attentions on the patients, they could but slightly assuage so much suffering.

At times it all seemed like an evil dream--that carriage of wretchedness and pain, hurried along at express speed, with a continuous shaking and jolting which made everything hanging from the pegs--the old clothes, the worn-out baskets mended with bits of string--swing to and fro incessantly.