Her eyes followed the pointing of the girl's finger.
"They—must—be—here—," she murmured.
"Maman,—wave to Jean!"
Her gaze rested on the dim, undefined figure of the boy standing in the street with his hat in the hand that was reached toward them above his head. Mechanically she waved back.
The woman and the girl stood close.
"Oh—petite maman;" she whispered piteously.
The woman's eyes dilated.
There, following after Jean; going through the shadow-saturated street; moving unheeded among the vague figures of the people going to and fro. Something was there. Some scant movement like a current too quiet to see. A shadow in the shadows that her sight could not hold to. In the dark, gloom-soaked street, staying close to her Jean, she could feel something. Some one was there.
Her eyes strained with desperate intentness. Her hands went up slowly across her heart.
The words that came to her lips were whispered: