s a child, and others when he was growing up--and the picture
your brother painted. When we heard--the news--and knew we shouldn't see
our boy again in this world, I couldn't bear to open the boxes--though I
was longing to cry over his dear treasures. They've been stored at the
Ritz ever since. But the first thing I asked Father to do when we
decided the other day to live in Jim's chateau, after all--was to wire
for the boxes to be sent there. I didn't suppose they'd arrive so
soon--in war time. Dear me, I can hardly wait to start, now! I feel as
strong as a girl."

To prove this--or because she was restless--she begged to be taken out
in a cab to see the town, especially the cathedral, which Brian had told
her was the largest in Europe except St. Peter's in Rome, St. Sophia in
Constantinople, and something in Cologne which she didn't _want_ to
remember! Julian O'Farrell and his sister must go with us, of course. It
wouldn't be kind to leave them to do their sightseeing alone. Besides,
Julian was so good-natured, and said such funny things it would be
pleasant to have his society.

This arrangement made it difficult for me to glue myself to Mother
Beckett's side. Now and then she insisted upon getting out of the cab to
try her strength, and Dierdre would obediently have taken her in tow, in
order to hand me over to "Jule," if I hadn't been mulishly obstinate. I
quite enjoyed manoeuvring to use my dear little invalid as a sort of
standing barrage against enemy attacks, and even though Brian and I were
parted for the first time since his blindness, I felt almost absurdly
cheerful. It was so good to know that Mother Beckett was out of danger,
and that it was I who had helped to drag her out! Besides, after all the
stricken towns that have saddened our eyes, it was enlivening to be in
one (as Mother Beckett said at Compiegne) with "whole houses." In
contrast, good St. Firmin's ancient city looks almost as gay as Paris.
Our hotel with its pleasant garden and the fine shops--(where it seems
you can still buy every fascinating thing from newest jewellery and
oldest curiosities, to Amiens' special "_roc_" chocolates)--the long,
arboured boulevards, the cobbled streets, the quaint blue and pink
houses of the suburbs, and the poplar-lined walk by the Somme, all, all
have the friendliest air! Despite the crowds of soldiers in khaki and
horizon blue who fill the streets and cafes, the place seems outside
war. Even the stacked sand