"Par exemple!" cried the child in wonder.
She often came to see Alphonse after this. Sometimes it was to show the long blue stocking she was knitting, or to bring a large red apple or a small plum-cake.
But Alphonse wanted no present. It was her sweet face and her merry laugh and her soft little hands about his neck, of which he thought.
Winter was coming on, and the short days made the cellar-room darker than ever. It was cold and damp, too, and poor Leo shivered in his straw. Alphonse could do little work now, for his back was stiff and bent from rheumatism, so he earned very few francs. The tiny charcoal fire was tinier than ever, and sometimes the two old comrades had no food to eat.
But M. Alphonse never told Aimée this.
When New Year's day came, she begged
