The moans of despair at last died away in the house, as if grief,
piercing its way into the very depths of the soul, which is its
natural dwelling-place, had closed after it the windows of the
senses, so as to be alone and luxuriate in itself.
This was Christmas Eve; and while stillness reigned in the home so
recently visited by death, from all the other houses and from the
streets of the city came the joyous roar of rude musical instruments
and the clamorous voices of children and adults singing the advent
of the Messiah. The shouts from the flat above could be heard in the
very parlor where the dead child lay; and the pious women who sat
with her were perturbed in their sorrow and their devout meditation.
On the upper floor many small children, with a still greater number
of large ones, happy papas and mammas, excited aunts and uncles, were
celebrating Christmas and were going mad with delight before the most
admirable Bethlehem manger that was ever dreamed of and the most
luxuriant tree that ever grew toys and sweetmeats, and which bore on
its limbs a thousand lighted tapers. The parlor ceiling seemed to
shake under the great commotion; the poor little corpse quivered in
its blue coffin; and all the lights in the room oscillated as though
they wished to proclaim that they too were somewhat tipsy. Two of the
good women retired; one alone remained, but her head felt very heavy,
no doubt because she had lost so much sleep on the preceding nights;
so after a little her chin sank on her breast and everything melted
from her consciousness.
The lights continued to waver, although there was no draught in the
room. One might have believed that invisible wings were fluttering
about the altar. The lace on Celinina's gown rose and fell; and the
petals of her artificial flowers betrayed the passage of a playful
breeze, or the soft touch of tender hands. Just then Celinina opened
her eyes. They filled the room with bright inquiring glances cast
down and up and around her. She instantly unclasped her hands, the
ribbon that bound them together offering no resistance; and closing
her little fists, she rubbed both eyes as children do when they
awake. Then with a quick movement, and without the slightest effort,
she sat up, and looking upward at the ceiling, she began to laugh,--a
peculiar inaudible laugh apparent to the eyes alone. The one sound
that reached the ear was the rapid beating of wings, as if all the
doves of the earth were flying in and out of the death-chamber,
brushing their feathers against the walls and ceiling. Then Celinina
rose to her feet, stretched out her arms, and two short white wings
sprouted from her shoulders. They flapped and beat for a few seconds;
then she rose in the air and disappeared.
In the parlor everything remained as it was; the lights glowed on
the altar, pouring copious streams of melted wax on the _bobeches_.
The images all stood in their places without moving an arm or a
leg or unsealing their austere lips. The good woman was plunged in
a profound sleep which must have been a special blessing to her.
Nothing had changed, except that the little blue coffin had been left
empty.