The butterfly was on it.

He held it toward her, smiling gently, and she reached up, her very
breath on tiptoe. A little smile curved her lips, quick and wondering,
as the transfer was made, thread by thread, till the gorgeous thing
rested on her own palm.

She looked up. "What shall I do with it?" It was a shining whisper.

Achilles's eyes sought the door.

They moved toward it slowly, light as breath.

In the open doorway they paused. Above the tall buildings the grey rim
of sky lifted itself. The child looked up to it. Her eyes returned to
Achilles.

He nodded gravely.

She raised her hand with a little "p-f-f"--it was half a quick laugh and
half a sigh.

The wings fluttered free, and rose and faltered, and rose again--high
and higher, between the dark walls--up to the sky, into the grey--and
through.

The eyes that had followed it came back to earth. They looked at each
other and smiled gravely--two children who had seen a happy thing.

The child stood still with half-lifted hand.... A carriage drove quickly