"My baby—"
"You will not grieve, Maman."
She reached up and caught his face between her two hands and drew it down and kissed him on the mouth.
"Ah, Jean!"
"And say, how do I look?" He turned around and around in front of them. "But, Angele, fetch the lamp quickly. You cannot see in this dark. You cannot see me."
The girl laughed a bit uncertainly, and then she went quickly, rushing into the next room.
The woman gripped hold of the boy's hand. His fingers grasped hers.
"Petite Maman."
"Mon Jean—just—a—moment—still—so."
They stood there silent and very close to each other, in the room crowded with moving, splotching shadows. The girl came back through the curtain, a lighted lamp between her two hands. The flicker of it spread broadly into her eager, anxious face. The glow of it trickled before her and widened through the room. The shadows stuck to the walls in the corners and rocked up against the ceiling, black among the uneven streaks of yellow light.