Bring it here, here; I need a better death-couch for my mother.

You poor, dear woman, how you loved flowers, and no one has brought you even one! Captain Ortis, I have issued my commands! Everything must be done, when I return;--Lieutenant, you have your orders!" He rushed from the death-chamber to the sitting-room in his own house, and hastily tore stalks and blossoms from the plants.

The maid-servants watched him timidly, and he harshly ordered them to collect what he had gathered and take them to the house of death.
His orders were obeyed, and when he next appeared at Zorrillo's quarters, the soldiers, who had assembled there in throngs, parted to make way for him.
He beckoned to them, and while he went from one to another, saying: "The sibyl was my mother--Zorrillo has murdered my mother," the coffin was borne into the house.
In the vestibule, he leaned his head against the wall, moaning and sighing, until Florette was laid in her last bed, and a soldier put his hand on his shoulder.

Then Ulrich strewed flowers over the corpse, and the joiner came to nail up the coffin.

The blows of the hammer actually hurt him, it seemed as if each one fell upon his own heart.
The funeral procession passed through the ranks of soldiers, who filled the street.