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 ''dame. ' '' But Germaine only scampered away on her hob-nailed little boots.

'She looks very strong and happy,' said Jill. 'I didn't know you were married, Amélie.'

 ' Je suis fille-mère, Madame, '  said Amélie with an air of modest pride, as though the state were one of special merit.

'Hallo, you scoundrel! Where's my tea?' called Graham from above. He had come out on the balcony and leaned there looking down at them.

'Scoundrel yourself! Where's mine?—It's too late for tea; we are to keep our appetites for ''écrevisses! ' '' Jill returned. 'Well, au revoir, Amélie. I must see if a box of chocolates will tempt Germaine to make friends with me.'

Jill, going up the stairs and thinking of poor ugly Amélie and of her complacency, laughed a little. 'But how right it all is—for them,' she thought. 'They've each got their own little badge; their own little medal or pièce d'identité. They all grow, deep, deep, on their own soil. Grande dame; bourgeoise, or fille-mère. They each know their own place and are proud of it, more than any other people in the world. If you can't have a legitimate child, then make the best of an illegitimate one. Quite right, too,' Jill laughed, feeling that Amélie had justified Mademoiselle Ludérac still further, and pleased that it should be so. All the same, should she tell Dick of her discomfiture, or be contented, in silence, with feeling it was all for the best? She debated the point as she went along the passage