He is awaiting the day of burial, and day after day the partner of his life and death is sitting, and working, for in this underworld bereaved wives must work if husbands are to be decently buried.

The black tulips she will wear as mourning for him; she will accompany his poor body to the cemetery, and then return to live alone and to finish her work alone.
But let us continue our midnight explorations, heedless of the men and women now returning from their nightly prowl who jostle us as they pass.
We enter another room where the air is thick and makes us sick and faint.

We stand at the entrance and look around; we see again the evil-smelling lamp, and again a woman at work at a small table, and she too is a widow! She is making cardboard boxes, and pretty things they are.

Two beds are in the room, and one contains three, and the other two children.

On the beds lie scores of dainty boxes.