She lay looking out.
Presently the bell of the church began to toll, and up the village street came a long procession.

They were carrying an old man to his last resting-place.

She followed them with her eyes till they turned in among the trees at the gate.
"Who was that ?" she asked.
"An old man," he answered, "a very old man; they say he was ninety-four; but his name I do not know." She mused a while, looking out with fixed eyes.
"That is why the bell rang so cheerfully," she said.

"When the old die it is well; they have had their time.

It is when the young die that the bells weep drops of blood." "But the old love life ?" he said; for it was sweet to hear her speak.
She raised herself on her elbow.
"They love life, they do not want to die," she answered, "but what of that?
They have had their time.