Eva could do that for her, at least. “I won’t leave you, my friend. I’m here.” Geneviève was too weak to argue. So while she fell in and out of consciousness, Eva held her hand and softly crooned “Au Clair de la Lune,” the lullaby Geneviève’s mother had comforted Geneviève with when she was just a little girl. “Ma chandelle est morte,” Eva sang, “Je n’ai plus de feu. Ouvre-moi ta porte pour l’amour de Dieu.” My candle is dead. I have no light left. Open your door for me, for the love of God.
