My Friends in their Gardens 
large white letters, and an omnibus jingled twice daily across 
the tiny village square, where the purple Pigeons had been 
wont to haunt about the stone fountain fearless of the 
women who came for water. I asked for Reine. Alas ! 
her name was now marked on a little black heart-shaped 
slab. A small playfellow had fallen off a loaded hay-cart, 
and in trying to save him Reine had fallen under the wheel 
and been hurt unto death. By her heart there grew a tall 
yellow candlestick of a yellow Gentian, and I cast on the 
little grassy mound a bunch of favourite blue Gentians, 
blue as the eyes of little Reine-des-Cieux herself, or as the 
far-off sky, where, as she had once told me, surely the 
good God plants the hearts he loves in the flower-fields of 
Paradise. 
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