" She is fainting. Her lips tremble.
She can hardly speak.
"He has been discovered!" she says. "His fraud is known--they have
arrested him--"
"Would to heaven it was no worse. We have had accidents on the road.
The train was nearly annihilated--a frightful catastrophe--"
"He is dead! Kinko is dead!"
The unhappy Zinca falls on to a chair--and to employ the imaginative
phraseology of the Chinese--her tears roll down like rain on an autumn
night. Never have I seen anything so lamentable. But it will not do to
leave her in this state, poor girl! She is becoming unconscious. I do
not know where I am. I take her hands. I repeat:
"Mademoiselle Zinca! Mademoiselle Zinca!"
Suddenly there is a great noise in front of the house. Shouts are
heard. There is a tremendous to do, and amid the tumult I hear a voice.
Good Heavens! I cannot be mistaken. That is Kinko's voice!
I recognize it. Am I in my right senses?
Zinca jumps up, springs to the window, opens it, and we look out.
There is a cart at the door. There is the case, with all its
inscriptions: _This side up, this side down, fragile, glass, beware of
damp_, etc.
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