Short Fiction

powder and the mouldiness of cellars⁠—an indefinable odour in a heavy atmosphere, as overwhelming and as stifling as the furnaces in which human bodies are burned. Following the maid, I went up a marble staircase which was covered by a carpet of some Oriental kind, and was led into a sumptuous drawing room.

“On being left alone, I looked about me.

“The room was richly furnished, but with the pretension of an ill-bred parvenu. The engravings of the last century were pretty enough, representing women with high, powdered hair and half naked, surprised by gallant gentlemen in interesting postures. Another lady, lying on a huge disordered bed, was teasing with her foot a little dog buried in the sheets. Another resisted her lover complacently, as his hand strayed under her petticoat. One sketch showed four feet whose bodies could be divined, although concealed behind a curtain. The vast room, surrounded by soft divans, was entirely impregnated with this enervating odour, which had already taken hold of me. There was something suspicious about these walls, these stuffs, this exaggerated luxury, in short, the whole place.

“I approached the window to look into the garden, of which I could see but the trees. It was large, shady, superb. A broad path circled the lawn, where a fountain was playing in the air, flowed under some bushes, and reappeared some distance off. And suddenly three women appeared, down at the end of the garden, between two hedges of shrubs. They were walking slowly, arm in arm, clad in long, white tea-gowns covered with lace. Two were blondes and the other was dark-haired. Almost immediately they disappeared again behind the trees. I stood there entranced, delighted with this short and charming apparition, which brought to my mind a whole world of poetry. They had scarcely allowed themselves to be seen, in just the proper light, in that frame of foliage, in the midst of that mysterious, delightful park. It seemed to me that I had suddenly seen before me the great ladies of the last century, who were depicted in the engravings on the wall. And I began to think of these happy, joyous, witty and amorous times when manners were so graceful and lips so approachable.

“A deep voice made me jump. Patience had come in, beaming, and held out his hands to me.

“He looked into my eyes with the sly look which one takes when divulging secrets of love, and, with a Napoleonic gesture, he showed me his sumptuous parlour, his park, the three women, who had reappeared in the background. Then, in a triumphant voice, in which the note of pride was discernible, he said:

“And to think that I began with nothing⁠—my wife and my sister-in-law!”

The Funeral Pile

Last Monday at Étretat the death occurred of an Indian prince, Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatgay, a relative of His Highness the Maharajah Gaikwar, Prince of Baroda, in the Province of Gujarath, Bombay Presidency.

For about three weeks previously a group of about ten young Indians had been noticed in the streets, small, lithe young fellows, completely black, and dressed in grey suits, with broad-peaked cloth caps. They were distinguished potentates who had come to Europe to study the military institutions of the principal Western nations. The group consisted of three princes, a friend of high caste, an interpreter and three servants.

It was the head of this mission who had died, an old man of forty-two, the father-in-law of Sampatrao Kashivao Gaikwar, brother of His Highness the Gaikwar of Baroda. His son-in-law was with him. The others were Ganpatrao Shavanrao Gaikwar, cousin of His Highness Khasherao Gadhav; Vasudev Madhav Samarth, secretary and interpreter, and the servants, Ramchandra Bajaji, Ganu bin Pukaram Kokate, Rhambhaji bin Favji.

When the deceased gentleman was leaving his country he was overcome by sorrow, convinced that he would never return, and he wanted to abandon the trip, but he had to submit to the will of his noble relative, the Prince of Baroda, so he set out.

They came to spend the last weeks of summer at Étretat, and the curious used to watch them bathing every morning at the Roches Blanches baths.

Five or six days ago Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatgay began to suffer from pains in his gums, then the inflammation spread to his throat, which became ulcerated. Gangrene set in, and on Monday the doctors informed his young friend that he would not recover. He sank almost immediately after that, and when the unfortunate man seemed on the point of breathing his last, his friends caught him in their arms, lifted him out of bed, and placed him on the tiled floor, so that he might die in contact with Mother Earth, according to the laws of Brahma.

On the same day they requested the permission of the Mayor, Monsieur Boissaye, to burn the corpse, also in accordance with the rites of their religion. The Mayor hesitated, then telegraphed to the Prefecture for instructions, stating, however, that, in the absence of any reply to the contrary, he would give his consent. As no reply had been received by nine o’clock in the evening, it was decided that, in view of the infectious character of the disease of which the Indian had died, his body would be cremated that very night on the shore beneath the cliffs, as the tide receded.

At present no objection has been raised against this decision of the Mayor’s, who acted as a man of intelligence and resolution, with broad-minded ideas, and who was supported, moreover, by the advice of the three doctors who had followed the case and issued the certificate of death.

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There was a dance that night at the Casino. It was a premature autumn evening, and rather cold. A strong wind was blowing in from the ocean, though the sea was not rough, and ragged, torn clouds scudded across the sky. They came up from the distant horizon, and as they approached the moon they became white, covered it rapidly, and obscured it for a second