" "You did right," returned Trenchard. She seemed to have no idea whatever of the emotional states that were becoming to her age and position. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. Until Leonardo. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. " Her utterance was here choked by sobs. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated.
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