ies, that
little mother of Western civilisation, which captured her fancy? Or did
a curious perversity turn her from more obvious abodes, or was she kept
there by the charm of a certain church which she would enter every day
to steep herself in mellow darkness, the scent of incense, the drone of
incantations, and quiet communion with a God higher indeed than she had
been brought up to, high-church though she had always been? She had a
pretty little apartment, where for very little--the bulk of her small
wealth was habitually at the service of others--she could manage with
one maid and no "fuss." She had some "nice" French friends there, too.
But more probably it was simply the war which kept her there, waiting,
like so many other people, for it to be over before it seemed worth
while to move and re-establish herself. The immensity and wickedness of
this strange event held her, as it were, suspended, body and spirit,
high up on the hill which had seen the ancient peoples, the Romans,
Gauls, Saracens, and all, and still looked out towards the flat
Camargue. Here in her three rooms, with a little kitchen, the maid
Augustine, a parrot, and the Paris _Daily Mail_, she dwelt as it were
marooned by a world event which seemed to stun her. Not that she
worried, exactly. The notion of defeat or of real danger to her country
and to France never entered her head. She only grieved quietly over the
dreadful things that were being done, and every now and then would glow
with admiration at the beautiful way the King and Queen were behaving.
It was no good to "fuss," and one must make the best of things, just as
the "dear little Queen" was doing; for each Queen in turn, and she had
seen three reign in her time, was always that to her. Her ancestors had
been uprooted from their lands, their house burned, and her pedigree
diverted, in the Stuart wars--a reverence for royalty was fastened in
her blood.

Quite early in the business she had begun to knit, moving her slim
fingers not too fast, gazing at the grey wool through glasses, specially
rimless and invisible, perched on the bridge of her firm, well-shaped
nose, and now and then speaking to her parrot. The bird could say,
"Scratch a poll, Poll," already, and "Hullo!" those keys to the English
language. The maid Augustine, having completed some small duty, would
often come and stand, her head on one side, gazing down with a sort of
inquiring compassion in her wise, young, clear-brown eye