Part 2 (2/2)

She gave her hand to the old man and he kissed it.

”G.o.d bless you,” he breathed. Then he reminded her, ”Remember: Avenue Champs Elysees, Madame Villard.”

She nodded her head. She smiled at him and was off.

CHAPTER V

SUZANNE

It was a month since the day when Madame Villard had received two letters. Just a month had pa.s.sed since the silver-haired lady and her daughter had pored over two such different letters.

One was a scrawl--Paul's. He wrote that his baby was on her way to Paris to her grandmother. It was a dirty, scrawly note, but full of hope to the two who read it.

The next letter, neat and precise, was from the government. Before they opened it, the two women knew: Paul's little one was now an orphan. For a month, how that mother and sister waited!

With Madame Villard lived her daughter and her daughter's husband. They were the parents of Baby Margot.

Margot's father had come back from the war. But though he had returned to his dear ones, he would never again be able to walk. He would be an invalid for life. So Margot's mother had two helpless ones to care for.

And one of those was Margot's father.

Grandmother had taken care of little Margot from the day of her birth.

Starry-eyed Baby Margot was Grandmother Villard's charge--and a joyous charge to the old lady. But despite the happiness of her Margot, the heart of Madame Villard yearned for that other wee one--her son's little orphaned daughter.

She waited longingly for Paul's child to be brought to her. She waited until she could wait no longer. Then she went out in search of little Jeanne.

Madame Villard traveled to many villages in her search. She even asked the government to help her.

She tried so hard to speed the little one's arrival. But she could not.

The child was never brought to her.

And now, to-day, a month having elapsed, Madame Villard was again preparing to motor through the country to search. She intended to stop at a little graveyard in the Argonne (ar-gon') and pray.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A UNIQUE OLD WINDMILL IN PICTURESQUE FRANCE]

And while Madame Villard waited thus for little Jeanne, Suzanne Moreau was bringing the baby to Paris.

On the tramp Suzanne had found the child a sweet and tender thing.

Little Jeanne had hardly ever cried. She was satisfied and sleepy, or gurgling and gay.

Her life had been a rough one and her feedings irregular and sometimes insufficient. Still the baby had seemed happy, and Suzanne had smiled a great deal more than she had ever before smiled in her life.

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