a white dress, and a white veil on this little golden head; and thou wilt be all white—like the angels, Aimée, my well loved! I must see thee when thou art ready for church on Easter-day."
"But thou wilt be in the church too!"
"No."
"But yes! Always everyone is in church on the dear Easter-day. Didst thou never make a first communion, M. Alphonse?"
"Long, long ago," he said softly. His thoughts went back to a sunny morning in his native village, to a little gray stone church where the long beams of light slanting through the windows had fallen on rosy young faces and dazzling white garments. He was one of the children. He could smell the sweet country air full of flowers. He could hear the music.
Amiée laid her cheek against his. It was wet.
