“Where is he now?” asked Medallion.
Isidore shook his head, then lifted his eyes religiously. “Waiting for Judgment Day and P’tite Louison,” he answered.
“Dead!” said Medallion.
“How long?”
“Twenty year.”
“But the flowers—the flowers?”
“He left word for them to be sent just the same, and the money for it.”
Medallion turned and took off his hat reverently, as if a soul were passing from the world; but it was only P’tite Louison going out into the garden.
“She thinks him living?” he asked gently as he watched Louison.
“Yes; we have no heart to tell her. And then he wish it so. And the flowers kep’ coming.”