"Well," said Adrienne with her radiant smile, "then I must content myself with running this old Château in a proper manner, and see that my lord is comfortable and well fed. That is my present duty in life, is it not? Only we must not forget the peasants. I do want to give them a Happy Christmas, Guy. Tell me what we can do?" Husband and wife discussed that subject for some time together. Coals and food were chosen as the most suitable gifts, with some warm garments for the old people and children. Adrienne suggested a big Christmas Tree in the Hall for everyone. "Alain will love it so." "Ah," said Guy, "I wondered if he would enter into our talk." "He's always in my thoughts. He must be doing lessons now. Who can teach him?" "Possibly the Curé. He is a very able man." As if in answer to their thoughts, a door banged in the distance, and Alain darted into the hall; his hands and face were floury; he carried two doughy-looking buns. "They're just baked," he cried joyfully, holding them out to Adrienne; "and I've made them myself for you and Daddy. They're for your tea. Fanchette and me have been baking. It's jolly warm in the kitchen." The grown-ups accepted the gifts gratefully. "Come and sit down and talk to us," said Adrienne, putting her arm round him. "Have you ever had a Christmas Tree, Alain?" The child nodded. "My Aunt Susy came from Germany where the Christmas Trees grow. Are we going to have one?" "We're thinking of it." "And are we going to have Christmas presents? Real ones?" "Perhaps." "I wish you'd tell Father Christmas that I'd like a big organ of my own, like Daddy's." "A big order," said his father, laughing. Alain looked at him soberly. "Are we poor, Daddy? Would it cost too much?" "I'm very, very rich," said his father; "but I haven't money to spare." "But rich people always have heaps of money," Alain argued. "No. I've known some rich people who've had next to none; they've had other better things." "What kind?" Guy looked at Adrienne, then at his little son. "They've got love, my boy, and belongings and a home, down here; and a loving God looking after them and keeping all His best gifts for them when they go above to be with Him." "That's how Agatha talks," said the boy. His bonne appeared to take him off and make him tidy for tea. When he had disappeared, Adrienne said: "He is very fond of Agatha. She teaches him a lot. But I must tell you what he said this morning. He had been rude to Mathilde. She always rubbed him up the wrong way; he wouldn't say he was sorry, so he was made to stand in the corner till he did. And then he lifted up his eyes as he stood there and prayed: "'Oh, God, I do wish you'd try harder to make me a good boy, for Jesus Christ's sake, Amen.' "What do you think of that for a prayer?" Guy smiled: "It shows he was aware of his utter badness, etc.? That making him good was a superhuman task." And then Adrienne said softly: