The woman sighed softly.
"It is not that, Angele. She was like the others. They come because they are curious. Something, perhaps, brings them here, but they do not know that. They are only curious. They do not believe. I tell them the truth. They are shocked for a little moment. They do not believe, Angele."
"Pauvre petite Maman, you are tired."
"Non, non, Angele."
"Will you have Jean see you tired, Maman?"
The woman stared up into the girl's small, white face that was dimmed with shifting shadows. The woman's heavily lidded eyes met the girl's wide, dark eyes.
"Jean—"
"He will be home to eat, Maman. Soon, now, he will be home."
The woman passed her hands again and again over her forehead and then she held them with the tips of her fingers pressed tight to her temples.
"He is such a child, Angele."