He turned over the pages of a big book in which those who enter this last resting-place are inscribed and numbered, and replied that on the 22nd of February, at 12 o'clock, a woman of that name had been buried.
I asked him to show me the grave, for there is no finding one's way without a guide in this city of the dead, which has its streets like a city of the living.

The keeper called over a gardener, to whom he gave the necessary instructions; the gardener interrupted him, saying: "I know, I know .-- It is not difficult to find that grave," he added, turning to me.
"Why ?" "Because it has very different flowers from the others." "Is it you who look after it ?" "Yes, sir; and I wish all relations took as much trouble about the dead as the young man who gave me my orders." After several turnings, the gardener stopped and said to me: "Here we are." I saw before me a square of flowers which one would never have taken for a grave, if it had not been for a white marble slab bearing a name.
The marble slab stood upright, an iron railing marked the limits of the ground purchased, and the earth was covered with white camellias.

"What do you say to that ?" said the gardener.
"It is beautiful." "And whenever a camellia fades, I have orders to replace it." "Who gave you the order ?" "A young gentleman, who cried the first time he came here; an old pal of hers, I suppose, for they say she was a gay one.

Very pretty, too, I believe.

Did you know her, sir ?" "Yes." "Like the other ?" said the gardener, with a knowing smile.