"Thou must come with me," she whispered.
"Perhaps," he whispered back.
That Easter was as bright a day as ever broke upon the world.
Even the basement room caught a little of its cloudless light. Even the old lion stretched his stiffened limbs, turned his blind eyes towards the window, and snuffed the air which floated in as if scenting a new hope.
M. Alphonse was in a tremor. He had not been able to decide whether or not to go to the church. It was a long time since he had entered one. He wanted to go—he dreaded to go.
As he was sitting with his head bent, by his little table, a flash of white came into the room,—Aimée, a vision of purity, carrying a tall spire of Easter lilies in each hand.
"Thou wilt come with me?" she said. She put the lilies into a pitcher of water,
