The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. “But I have no troubles. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. “I did everything I could to save your baby, Lucia, I have the medical knowledge to cure almost anything, but the Pestilence struck you too fast. They would be quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,—and far more instructive. It was empty. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall.
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