He hides his face behind no handkerchief, and looks before him.

But that his face is something sunk and rigid, and is pale, it bears the same expression as of old.

He takes his place within the carriage, and three other gentlemen follow.

Then the grand funeral moves slowly down the street.

The feathers are yet nodding in the distance, when the juggler has the basin spinning on a cane, and has the same crowd to admire it.