"Because of the Germans winning?" Joey ventured. "My home was in Alsace," said Mademoiselle. "You--how would you have felt if the great Foch, the great Haig, and the great Americans had _not_ conquered with the help of God, and your home had been handed over to the Hun." "I don't know," Joey said. It was unthinkable. "You don't know; you are fortunate. I had to know. But that is over, thank God; we have waited almost fifty years, but it is over." Mademoiselle de Lavernais seemed to have forgotten her, Joey thought; her dull black eyes had lit up--her plain, tired face was quite transformed. Joey wondered whether she ought to slip out and go to the maths mistress--another apology would certainly be needed there. Fortunately, Mademoiselle came back to earth in a minute. "But what do I talk of? We should both be at our classrooms, you, I fear, will be in trouble in that you are late. My class will merely rejoice that cross old Maddy has given them a little longer of liberty to chatter in English. Should you not be at mathematics? Come with me." She put her hand again on Joey's shoulder, and they went down the passage to Classroom Remove II. B together. Mademoiselle knocked and went in. "Miss Musgrave, you will of your kindness, I hope, forgive the lateness of this pupil, who was detained by me not by her fault," she said. "The blame is all mine; I make you the apologies." "Oh, of course; that is all right, Mademoiselle," Miss Musgrave said nervously. "Take your place, please; what is your name?" "Jocelyn." "Take your place, Jocelyn." Joey couldn't thank Mademoiselle in the middle of a class, but the look she gave her was eloquent enough. Mademoiselle smiled back, before she bowed to Miss Musgrave and departed to her own class. Remove II. B discussed the extraordinary incident of that smile all through the interval for milk and buns, three-quarters of an hour later. CHAPTER X A SUNDAY OUT Cousin Greta was as good or as bad as her word; Joey wasn't quite sure which way to look at it. On that first Sunday morning, while she, with the twenty other girls at Miss Lambton's table, was enjoying the Sunday luxury of late breakfast and hot sausages, a note was brought to Miss Lambton. "Jocelyn Graham," she called. Joey stood up. "Miss Conyngham has sent to say that relations are coming to take you out. They will be here at 12.30. Go to the drawing-room when you come out of chapel." "Yes, Miss Lambton." Joey sat down, and went on with her sausages. She felt rather depressed; the only cheering part of the business was that by going out she would probably escape that unknown horror of saying her Collect, Epistle, and Gospel, and being questioned on them. Noreen was sitting two places away. "What are they? Aunts, uncles, or what? Are they good for chocolates, or will they point out that those are still four shillings a pound, and schoolgirls should be thankful for bread and margarine!"