great bell of St. Martin's seemed to be weighing on my forehead, but I managed to drag myself to the window, and out on the road I saw two round red faces staring at me with horror-stricken eyes. Paillard and Chamaille had rushed in hot haste to get a sight of their friend before he expired, but when they did see him, their ardor cooled a little, and they fell back so as to put the width of the road between us.
"Heavens!" cried Chamaille; "my poor friend, your color is something awful." But the mere sight of them seemed to restore me, so I called out, "You look hot, won't you come in and sit down a minute?"
"No, thank you, no!" they both said hastily; "we are all right out here," and they kept backing away towards the cart, where Paillard pretended to fumble with the bit of his old nag, to cover his embarrassment. Chamaille soon pulled himself together, for with him it was an everyday experience to talk with the dying; he first inquired how I was feeling, and when I said but poorly, he shook his head.
"Ah, my dear Colas!" said he sadly, "I have told you more times than I could count that this is what we must all come to; all flesh is grass, here today and gone tomorrow, but in the heyday of your
