Her faculty for fraternizing with the people seemed to him a charming gift. Neither Ruth nor Rosemary would have known what to do with Annette in tête-à-tête. They could have dealt with her coöperatively; in the Girl Guides or one of Aunt Bella’s clubs; but not as an individual. And Toppie, full of still solicitude, would have dealt with her as a soul. The difference was that Alix was not dealing with her at all. She was enjoying Annette as much as Annette was enjoying her. They were simply two girls engaged in a pastime delightful to them both; and Giles surmised that such easy intercourse was perhaps only possible in a country where caste was a thing so impassable that intimacy lent itself to no misinterpretation. Caste in France, he was coming more and more to see, centred itself on the question of marriage. In a country where the romance of the _mésalliance_, so dear to English hearts, was nearly unknown, there was little likelihood of its disintegration. How little do those know France, thought Giles, who imagine her republican at heart! Madame Vervier did not return from her drive till supper time, and after supper, during which she talked cheerfully, if with a certain languor, she established herself in the drawing-room with monsieur de Maubert. There was no moon to-night and the light streamed out over the verandah from the drawing-room window. Giles, from his place on the steps, could see that madame Vervier, beside the lamp, had her embroidery and that she spoke to monsieur de Maubert in low tones. Alix brought out a saucer of milk for a stray kitten that she and Annette had found. “I shall take it to Paris with me,” she said, stroking the back of the little creature, while it drank, half choked with purrs and lapping. “It is not a pretty kitten, mademoiselle Alix,” said André, who sat beside Giles smoking. “No; it is not pretty; except as all kittens are pretty—the delicate little paws; the beautiful movements. In time it will look better; with brushing and good food,” said Alix. “And it has a charming little coral nose to match the coral beads under its feet.—Only hear it purr, Giles! Have you ever noticed the softness of a kitten’s feet?—they are like raspberries to hold in one’s hand.” André watched her meditatively. “It is time for your bed, _mon enfant_.” Madame Vervier’s voice came from the drawing-room. “I will visit you before you sleep.—Ah, _mais non_! You must not have the kitten with you. You would be devoured by fleas. It will be quite happy shut into the kitchen.” “But it is so young, Maman; so lonely. It must so miss its mother.” Alix stood supplicating, the kitten held to her cheek. “I do not mind the fleas.” Madame Vervier was melted; or it was, perhaps, an evening on which she was inclined to indulgence. “Very well. If you do not mind the fleas! While it misses its mother, then. Too soon, alas, it will be a mother itself!”