flat, and desolate plain. But neither this fact nor the weather, for
it was a raw and bitter winter's day, made any difference, at least
at first, to Cecile. All lesser feelings, all minor discomforts, were
swallowed up in the joyful knowledge that they were in France, in the
land where Lovedy was sure to be, in their beloved father's country.
They were in France, their own _belle_ France! Little she knew
or recked, poor child! how far was this present desolate France from
her babyhood's sunny home. Having conquered the grand difficulty of
getting there, she saw no other difficulties in her path just now.

"Oh, Maurice! we are safe in our own country," she said, in a tone
of ecstasy, to the little boy.

Maurice, however,--cold, tired, still seasick from his passage
across the Channel,--saw nothing delightful in this fact.

"I'm very hungry, Cecile," he said, "and I'm very cold. How soon
shall we find breakfast and a night's lodging?"

"Maurice, dear, it is quite early in the day; we don't want to think
of a night's lodging for many hours yet."

"But we passed through a town, a great big town," objected Maurice;
"why did you not look for a night's lodging there, Cecile?"

"'Twasn't in my 'greement, Maurice, darling. I promised, promised
faithful when I went on this search, that we'd stay in little
villages and small tiny inns, and every place looked big in that
town. But we'll soon find a place, Maurice, and then you shall have
breakfast. Toby will take us to a village very soon."