"Father loves all this etiquette, _ma tante_; it brings back memories of a very happy past. It is the only thing he has left now," she added with a little sigh, "the only bit out of the past which that awful revolution could not take away from him. You will try to be indulgent to him, aunt darling, won't you?" "Indulgent?" retorted the old lady with a shrug of her shoulders, "of course I'll be indulgent. It's no affair of mine and he does as he pleases. But I should have thought that twenty years spent in England would have taught him commonsense, and twenty years' experience in earning a precarious livelihood as a teacher of languages in . . ." "Hush, aunt, for pity's sake," broke in Crystal hurriedly, and she put up her hands almost as if she wished to stop the words in the old lady's mouth. "All right! all right! I won't mention it again," said Mme. la Duchesse good-humouredly. "I have only been in this house four and twenty hours, my dear child, but I have already learned my lesson. I know that the memory of the past twenty years must be blotted right out of our minds--out of the minds of every one of us. . . ." "Not of mine, aunt, altogether," murmured Crystal softly. "No, my dear--not altogether," rejoined Mme. la Duchesse as she placed one of her fine white hands on the fair head of her niece; "your beautiful mother belongs to the unforgettable memories, of those twenty years. . . ." "And not only my beautiful mother, aunt dear. There are men living in England to-day whose names must remain for ever engraved upon my father's heart, as well as on mine--if we should ever forget those names and neglect for one single day our prayers of gratitude for their welfare and their reward, we should be the meanest and blackest of ingrates." "Ah!" said Madame, "I am glad that Monsieur my brother remembers all that in the midst of his restored grandeur." "Have you been wronging him in your heart all this while, _ma tante_?" asked Crystal, and there was a slight tone of reproach in her voices "you used not to be so cynical once upon a time." "Cynical!" exclaimed the Duchesse, "bless the child's heart! Of course I am cynical--at my age what can you expect?--and what can I expect? But there, don't distress yourself, I am not wronging your father--far from it--only this grandeur--the state dinner last night--his gracious manner--all that upset me. I am not used to it, my dear, you see. Twenty years in that diminutive house in Worcester have altered my tastes, I see, more than they did your father's . . . and these last ten months which he seems to have spent in reviving the old grandeur of his ancestral home, I spent, remember, with the dear little Sisters of Mercy at Boulogne, praying amidst very humble surroundings that the future may not become more unendurable than the past."