Part 60 (1/2)

The young fellow, who had known Mimi, was greatly saddened at this story, and feeling in his pocket took out a bag of christening sweetmeats and handed it to Rodolphe.

”Poor Mimi, give her this from me and tell her I will come and see her.”

”Come quickly, then, if you would come in time,” said Rodolphe, as he left him.

When Rodolphe got to the hospital, Mimi, who could not move, threw her arms about him in a look.

”Ah, there are my flowers!” said she, with the smile of satisfied desire.

Rodolphe related his pilgrimage into that part of the country that had been the paradise of their loves.

”Dear flowers,” said the poor girl, kissing the violets. The sweetmeats greatly pleased her too. ”I am not quite forgotten, then. The young fellows are good. Ah! I love all your friends,” said she to Rodolphe.

This interview was almost merry. Schaunard and Colline had rejoined Rodolphe. The nurses had almost to turn them out, for they had overstayed visiting time.

”Goodbye,” said Mimi. ”Thursday without fail, and come early.”

The following day on coming home at night, Rodolphe received a letter from a medical student, a dresser at the hospital, to whose care he had recommended the invalid. The letter only contained these words:--

”My dear friend, I have very bad news for you. No. 8 is dead. This morning on going through the ward I found her bed vacant.”

Rodolphe dropped on to a chair and did not shed a tear. When Marcel came in later he found his friend in the same stupefied att.i.tude. With a gesture the poet showed him the latter.

”Poor girl!” said Marcel.

”It is strange,” said Rodolphe, putting his hand to his heart; ”I feel nothing here. Was my love killed on learning that Mimi was to die?”

”Who knows?” murmured the painter.

Mimi's death caused great mourning amongst the Bohemians.

A week later Rodolphe met in the street the dresser who had informed him of his mistress's death.

”Ah, my dear Rodolphe!” said he, hastening up to the poet. ”Forgive me the pain I caused you by my heedlessness.”

”What do you mean?” asked Rodolphe in astonishment.

”What,” replied the dresser, ”you do not know? You have not seen her again?”

”Seen whom?” exclaimed Rodolphe.

”Her, Mimi.”

”What?” said the poet, turning deadly pale.

”I made a mistake. When I wrote you that terrible news I was the victim of an error. This is how it was. I had been away from the hospital for a couple of days. When I returned, on going the rounds with the surgeons, I found Mimi's bed empty. I asked the sister of charity what had become of the patient, and she told me that she had died during the night. This is what had happened. During my absence Mimi had been moved to another ward. In No. 8 bed, which she left, they put another woman who died the same day. That will explain the mistake into which I fell. The day after that on which I wrote to you, I found Mimi in the next ward. Your absence had put her in a terrible state; she gave me a letter for you and I took it on to your place at once.”

”Good G.o.d!” said Rodolphe. ”Since I thought Mimi dead I have not dared to go home. I have been sleeping here and there at friends' places. Mimi alive! Good heavens! What must she think of my absence? Poor girl, poor girl! How is she? When did you see her last?”