For three days Philip was occupied from
morning till night. At last he and Albert Price followed the hearse to the
cemetery at Montparnasse.
"I want to do the thing decent," said Albert Price, "but there's no use
wasting money."
The short ceremony was infinitely dreadful in the cold gray morning. Half
a dozen people who had worked with Fanny Price at the studio came to the
funeral, Mrs. Otter because she was massiere and thought it her duty,
Ruth Chalice because she had a kind heart, Lawson, Clutton, and Flanagan.
They had all disliked her during her life. Philip, looking across the
cemetery crowded on all sides with monuments, some poor and simple, others
vulgar, pretentious, and ugly, shuddered. It was horribly sordid. When
they came out Albert Price asked Philip to lunch with him. Philip loathed
him now and he was tired; he had not been sleeping well, for he dreamed
constantly of Fanny Price in the torn brown dress, hanging from the nail
in the ceiling; but he could not think of an excuse.
"You take me somewhere where we can get a regular slap-up lunch. All this
is the very worst thing for my nerves."
"Lavenue's is about the best place round here," answered Philip.
Albert Price settled himself on a velvet seat with a sigh of relief. He
ordered a substantial luncheon and a bottle of wine.
"Well, I'm glad that's over," he said.
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