en for so long
now, recalling each face, each voice, each different way they had of
saying, "Mother darling," or "Granny, look what I've got!" and thinking
that if only the war would end how she would pack at once and go to
them, that is, if they would not come to her for a nice long holiday in
this beautiful place. She thought of spring, too, and how lovely it
would be to see the trees come out again, and almond blossom against a
blue sky. The war seemed so long, and winter too. But she must not
complain; others had much greater sorrows than she--the poor widowed
women kneeling in the church; the poor boys freezing in the trenches.
God in his great mercy could not allow it to last much longer. It would
not be like Him! Though she felt that it would be impossible to eat, she
meant to force herself to make a good lunch so as to be able to go down
as usual, and give her little presents. They would miss them so if she
didn't. Her eyes, opening, rested almost gloatingly on the piles of
francs and envelopes. And she began to think how she could reduce still
further her personal expenditure. It was so dreadful to spend anything
on oneself--an old woman like her. Doctor, indeed! If Augustine fussed
any more she would send her away and do for herself! And the parrot,
leaving his cage, which he could always do, perched just behind her and
said: "Hullo! Kiss me, too!"

That afternoon in the wards every one noticed what a beautiful colour
she had. "_L'ange anglaise aux cheveux gris_" had never been more
popular. One _poilu_, holding up his envelope, remarked to his
neighbour: "_Elle verse des gouttes d'ciel, notr' 'tite gran'me_." To
them, grateful even for those mysterious joys "cat's cradles," francs
were the true drops from heaven.

She had not meant to give them all to-day, but it seemed dreadful, when
she saw how pleased they were, to leave any out, and so the whole
ninety-seven had their franc each. The three over would buy Augustine a
little brooch to make up to the silly child for her fright in the
morning. The buying of this brooch took a long time at the jeweller's in
the _rue des Romains_, and she had only just fixed on an amethyst before
feeling deadly ill with a dreadful pain through her lungs. She went out
with her tiny package quickly, not wanting any fuss, and began to mount
towards home. There were only three hundred yards to go, and with each
step she said to herself: "Nonsense! What would the Queen think of you