"My grandmother, Edmee de Valmont, married Pierre Germain. They had but one child, my mother, also Edmee, and she in turn married Joseph Laurent, my father. I, again, was an only child, so it has always been by Edmees that the de Valmonts have been remembered, till now, when my little Roger has revived the old Valmont name. There was always a Roger de Valmont in the old days." "Ah yes," exclaimed Pierre, "I know that by the old inscriptions in the church. Mother, why did you not call me, the eldest, Roger? I should have been proud of the name." His mother looked at him with a rather anxious expression; he was a handsome boy, and before now some of the old people in the village had whispered to her that the Valmont blood was to be seen in the little farmer, though she had begged them always to put no nonsense in her boy's head. "My boy," she said seriously, almost solemnly, "when you have heard this little story, you will, I think, agree with me that no one could be otherwise than proud to bear the name of my dear and honoured grandfather, Pierre Germain. I do not wish to speak with anything but respect of my grandmother's ancestors, especially as I am happy to think many of them deserved to be so thought of. They did their best, and strove to be just and benevolent at a time when there were few to show the example, and for that let us honour them. But the ancestors _I_ am the most proud of, and I know your father agrees with me, are not the de Valmonts." Pierre slipped his hand into his mother's. "I should like to think the same as you and father," he said gently. And then Madame Marcel, having the papers smoothed out, and sitting in a good clear light began to read as follows:-- "Belle Prairie Farm,-- "Valmont-les-Roses,-- "Touraine. "_1st June, in the year of our Lord 1822_.