She was half smiling, with her head slightly inclined on one side.

Around her neck she had a black band, which gave her a sort of necklet of shadow.

She was a girl who had hanged herself in a fit of love madness.
Each morning, while Laurent was there, he heard behind him the coming and going of the public who entered and left.
The morgue is a sight within reach of everybody, and one to which passers-by, rich and poor alike, treat themselves.

The door stands open, and all are free to enter.

There are admirers of the scene who go out of their way so as not to miss one of these performances of death.