hinking of?" asked she.

"I am thinking that on this day, very far from us, very near, He
suffered the Passion, He who came on earth to cure the blind."

Luce took his hand:

"Do you believe in Him?"

"No, Luce, I believe no longer. But he remains always the friend of
those he has accepted, even once, at his table. And you, do you know
him?"

"Hardly," responded Luce. "They never talked to me about him. But
without knowing him I love him.... For I know that he loved."

"Not as we do."

"Why not? We ourselves have a poor little heart that knows only how to
love you, my love. But He; He loved all of us. But it's always the same
love."

"Would you like we should go tomorrow," asked Pierre, much moved, "in
honor of His death?... I was told that they will have fine music at
Saint Gervais!"

"Yes, I would love well to go to church with you on that day. I am sure
He will give us welcome. And being nearer to Him, one is nearer each to
the other."

They fell silent.... Rain, rain, rain. The rain falls. The night falls.

"At this hour tomorrow," said she, "we shall be down there."

The fog was penetrating. She gave a little shudder.

"Darling, you are not cold?" he asked, disquieted.

She rose:

"No, no. Everything is love to me. I love everything and everything
loves me. The rain loves me, the wind loves me, the gray sky and the
cold--and my little greatly beloved...."

* * * * *

FOR Holy Friday the heavens remained clothed in their long gray veils;
but the air was soft and calm. In the streets one saw flowers, jonquils,
stocks. Pierre took a few which she kept in her hand. They followed the
peaceful Quai des Orfevres and passed along the base of pure Notre-Dame.
The charm of the Old City, clothed in a discreet light, surrounded them
with its noble gentleness. On the Place Saint Gervais pigeons flew up
under their feet. They followed them with their eyes about the facade of
the church; one of the birds settled on the head of a statue. At the top
of the steps to the _parvis_ before the church, as they were about to
enter, Luce turned about and perceived in the midst of the crowd a few
steps away a little girl with reddish hair, about a dozen years old,
leaning against the portal, both arms raised above her head, who was
looking at them. She had the fine and somewhat archaic face of some
little cathedral statue, with an enigmatic smile, graceful, shrewd and
tender. Luce smiled also at her while callin