"I believe," the Countess said thoughtfully, "that dear Philippe must have known it. I dare say he did not care to trouble me with the details. I never cared for Guy or for his concerns. But dear Philippe said to me when he lay dying: 'My dearest, if we ever have grandchildren, I should like them to know this home of theirs!' I did not pay much attention then; but really Guy may have a dozen children for all I know." "He has not a dozen," said Adrienne very quietly; "but he has one. He thought the child was dead, then heard he was not, and went off to America to look for him." "And has he found it? Is it a boy or a girl?" The Countess was sitting up in her chair now and looking interested. "A boy. He is at the farm. I saw him this evening. Cousin Guy said I could tell you. You will be able to hear about it all to-morrow." "A boy!" The Countess repeated it to herself, then subsided upon her cushions again. "I really don't see that his family has anything to do with us, Adrienne. He must board him out somewhere if he is small. French children generally have foster-mothers, you know. It doesn't concern us. I cannot imagine Guy with a child to look after. But it is treating me very strangely to withhold this information from me. I always say he is a most unnatural stepson. I ought to have been told before." Adrienne tried to soothe her ruffled feelings. She was relieved to find that Guy was right in his conjectures; that his stepmother would not be disturbed by his news. The child itself was of no interest to her. She did not even ask Adrienne for a description of him, and in a few moments she was full of her Orleans friends, and she kept up an animated conversation with Adrienne till bedtime over the possible gaieties when she had settled in her flat. The next morning Guy arrived over for his business talk. But the Countess would not discuss any business before déjeuner. At twelve o'clock they adjourned to the library and then Guy plunged into the matter in hand. He told his stepmother that his lawyer held many proofs of Monsieur Bouverie's dishonesty, that he meant to have the matter cleared up, and that at three o'clock that afternoon both lawyers were coming to have an interview with him at the Château. "There is no doubt," said Guy gravely, "that I shall be able to prevent him taking possession here next Tuesday, but the question is, ma mère, about yourself. What are your wishes about continuing to live here? Do you not prefer Orleans? In the winter I know you do; and I should suggest your making no alteration in your plans, but go there on the date you have settled. But would you like to return next summer?" "I may not be alive then," said the Countess, feeling for her handkerchief. "Of course I do not wish to be turned out of my dear husband's home. Is it likely that I should? It is the dreadful penury in which I live which is my greatest trial."