Cécile du Monde was the only one who smiled when Marie Josephine spoke of Neville. She sat between Hortense and Denise, opposite Marie Josephine and the governess. It had been decided at the last moment that she was to come. She and her brother were distant connections of the De Soignés’ and the Marquis de Soigné had charge of their estates, which were far away in the southwest of France. They were orphans and spent most of their time with their Paris relatives. Madame de Soigné had refused to allow her own child to leave her at the hurried conference in the middle of the night, after the bal masqué was hastily broken up. The sound of cannonading was heard, and alarming reports came in from all sides. It was like the Comtesse Saint Frère to act quickly. She had decided at once that the children, with the exception of Lisle, who refused to leave her, were to start at once for Pigeon Valley and had offered its hospitality to her friends. Madame de Soigné had accepted first for Bertran, who was a troublesome, spoiled boy, of whom she was glad to be rid in the midst of such an anxious time. Then after a talk with Cécile, who felt that she should go with her brother who was younger than she, it had been arranged that they should both accompany the Saint Frère children. As Lisle had told Marie Josephine it would be, Bertran rode with his servant. The sound of their horses’ hoofs could be heard faintly in the still midday air. Proté sat on a stool at Marie Josephine’s feet although there was plenty of room for her in the seats of the great, roomy coach. Ever since Marie Josephine could remember Proté had sat on the stool at her feet and held her treasures for her as she grew tired of them. Once it had been a large, gilded, blue glass vase, another time a miniature of her great-grandfather, and once a red silk shawl which she had held in her arms pretending it was a baby, cooing to it and singing to it. But all that had been, of course, when she was very young. The wooden Austrian doll, called Trudle, which her uncle had brought her from his journeyings, had always accompanied her until this summer. Madame de Pont, even in the midst of her worry, noticed Trudle’s absence and said: “Where, chérie, is the little friend Trudle?” Marie Josephine shrugged her shoulders. “You are like the others, Madame. You think of me always as a baby, just a baby. Dolls, dolls—why I am done with them!” This time they all laughed, even Proté, who would not have dared to do so had they been accompanied by Madame Saint Frère! She knew well that Trudle was safe in the packing box, on top of the coach! Flambeau rested his nose on the ledge of the coach window and looked out yearningly at a fragrant stretch of green meadow. His eyes followed the sudden flight of birds from the branch of a great poplar as they thundered by it.