ing to his door he saw the little daughter of the concierge standing at the top of the steps which led down into the basement.
"Good-day, mademoiselle," said M. Alphonse. "Did mademoiselle call?"
The little Aimée did not answer. Her round blue eyes, growing used to the dim light, had discovered the form of the lion in its corner, and were fixed in terror upon it.
"Ah! you are afraid of Leo!" said M. Alphonse. "There is no cause, my little one. He is too old and weary to move. Besides, he is chained to the wall. He cannot hurt you."
"But he is so big," faltered Aimée.
"He is very weak—and very gentle."
"Lions eat little girls," she said in a whisper.
"Leo never did," M. Alphonse said with a smile. "Besides, he has no teeth. Come down and talk to me. I promise he shall not touch you."
