that my father had fallen in love with a beautiful young widow,
Madame la Baronne de Solivet (nee Cheverny), and had brought her
home, in spite of the opposition of her relations. I cannot tell
whether she were warmly welcomed at Walwyn Court by any one but the
dear beautiful grandmother, a Frenchwoman herself, who was delighted
again to hear her mother tongue, although she had suffered much among
the Huguenots in her youth, when her husband was left for dead on the
S. Barthelemi.

He, my grandfather, had long been dead, but I perfectly remember her.
She used to give me a sugar-cake when I said 'Bon soir, bonne maman,'
with the right accent, and no one made sugar-cake like hers. She
always wore at her girdle a string of little yellow shells, which she
desired to have buried with her. We children were never weary of
hearing how they had been the only traces of her or of her daughter
that her husband could find, when he came to the ruined city.

I could fill this book with her stories, but I must not linger over
them; and indeed I heard no more after I was eight years old. Until
that time my brother and I were left under her charge in the country,
while my father and mother were at court. My mother was one of the
Ladies of the Bedchamber of Queen Henrietta Maria, who had been
enchanted to find in her a countrywoman, and of the same faith. I
was likewise bred up in their Church, my mother having obtained the
consent of my father, during a dangerous illness that followed my
birth, but the other children were all brought up as Protestants.
Indeed, no difference was made between Eustace and me when we were at
Walwyn. Our grandmother taught us both alike to make the sign of the
cross, and likewise to say our prayers and the catechism; and oh! we
loved her very much.