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arranged for him to sit some time before, but he had
not come.   I said that I would some day soon.   Ten
days afterwards I heard that he was dead.   He had
been taken ill at Foyot's, where he had been staying;
a doctor had not been sent for until he had already
got pneumonia and a few days later he was taken
to a nursing-home.   The following day his Father
had arrived and the door was opened by a hospital
nurse, who said, " Est-ce que vous voulez voit votrefils^
il est dans le mortuaire? "  Radiguet was the eldest of
the children   and  adored by his Father and his
brothers and sisters, and it was a terrible shock.
Marie Beerbohm told me of his death and asked me
if I would go with her to his funeral.   We did not
look forward to it as we knew that it would be a
very sad affair.   This was in the month of Novem-
ber, and one morning at nine I fetched Marie and
we went to the church, which was near the Etoile.
It was foggy and raining.   The church was filled
with white flowers and near the altar was the raised
platform, waiting for the coffin.   The church was
crowded with people. In the pew in front of us was
the negro band from the Boeuf sur le Toit.  Picasso
was there, Brancusi, and so many celebrated people
that I cannot remember their names.   Radiguet's
death was a terrible shock to everyone.   " Coco "
Chanel, the celebrated dress-maker, arranged the
funeral. It was most wonderfully done. Cocteau was
too ill to come.   We waited some minutes for the
arrival of the body, in its white coffin, covered with
white flowers; it was carried up the aisle and placed
on the platform.  After a short service we walked