In the early years of the eighteenth century, a hardy family lived
frugally and simply on a few, fertile Norman acres. Their home was but
a hut of stone and clay and thatch. It was surrounded by a carefully
attended vineyard and fruit trees which, in the springtime, made the
spot most beautiful. On this May day the passerby would have stopped
that he might carry away this scene of perfect pastoral charm. The
blossoming vines almost hid the house, the blooming trees perfumed the
morning breeze, and it all spoke for simple peace and contentment. But
at this hour neither peace nor contentment could have been found
within. Pierre, the eldest son, was almost fiercely resenting the
quiet counsel of his father and the tearful pleadings of his mother.
Pierre loved Adrienne, their neighbor's daughter. The two had grown up
side by side, each had brought to the other all that their dreams had
wished through the years of waiting. Pierre had long worked extra
hours and they both had saved and now, nearing thirty, there was
enough, and they could marry. But the edict had gone forth that
Huguenot marriages would no longer be recognized by the state; that
the children of such a union would be without civil standing. So
Pierre and Adrienne had decided to leave France, nor did the protests
of their elders delay their going. It was a solemn little ceremony,
their marriage, a ceremony practically illegal in their land. Rarely
are weddings more solemn or bridal trips more sad, for to England they
were starting that same day, never to see their dear France again,
never to prune or to gather in the little vineyard, never again to
look into the faces of their own kin.

It was not a worldly-wise change. Wages in England were very low and
there were no vineyards in that chilly land, and Pierre worked and