The woman took the cross into her hands, and seemed to weigh it. “Is it really silver?” she asked.
Odette smiled at her. “Yes, and is it not beautiful? It was given to me by my mother before she went away to India; I do not remember her giving it me, for I was then only a tiny creature. But Aunt Valerie has often told me that when mamma hung it around my neck, she cried, and kissed me, and told me to love the Holy Virgin, for that faith, and love, were the only things that were beautiful in life.”
The woman looked at her sadly. “I will keep it in memory of you, little one,” she said, “It may bring me luck,” and she got up as if to go.
“Will you promise never to do things that the Holy Mary would not approve of?” asked Odette, taking the woman’s hand, and gazing earnestly into her eyes.
“I will try, little one,” the woman said, and she stooped and kissed Odette passionately; the warm tears falling from her eyes upon Odette’s upturned face.
Far away in the East, the day began to Dawn. A flush of yellow like ripe fruit spread slowly across the sky. The birds in the trees piped drowsily to one another, and the bent cyclamens by the river-side lifted their fragrant hearts in rapture to the rising sun.
The woman and Odette stood side by side watching the breaking day, then, as a clock struck away across the meadows from some church tower, the woman shivered, and looked down the long white road that followed the river bank.
“I must go,” she said.
Odette looked at her. “Where to?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” answered the woman. “I am going to try to find work—honest work,” and taking Odette in her arms she kissed her again and again. “Good-bye, little one,” she said, “And since you pray to the Holy Mother, perhaps sometimes you will pray for me.”