Not a fresh day broke but she said to herself: "I am a little nearer
to Lovedy; I may hear of Lovedy to-day." But though Joe did not fail
to air his French on her behalf, though he never ceased in every
village inn to inquire for a fair and blue-eyed English girl, as yet
they had got no clew; as yet not the faintest trace of the lost
Lovedy could be heard of.

They were now over a week in France, and were still a long, long way
from Paris. Each day's proceedings consisted of two marches--one to
some small village, where Joe played the fiddle, made a couple of
sous, and where they had dinner; then another generally shorter march
to another tiny village, where they slept for the night. In this way
their progress could not but be very slow, and although Joe had far
more wisdom than his little companions, yet he often got misdirected,
and very often, after a particularly weary number of miles had been
got over, they found that they had gone wrong, and that they were
further from the great French capital than they had been the night
before.

Without knowing it, they had wandered a good way into Normandy, and
though it was now getting quite into the middle of February, there
was not a trace of spring vegetation to be discovered. The weather,
too, was bitter and wintry. East winds, alternating with sleet
showers, seemed the order of the day.

Cecile had not dared to confide her secret to Mr. Danvers, neither
had all Mrs. Moseley's motherly kindness won it from her. But,
nevertheless, during the long, long days they spent together, she was
not proof against the charms of the tall boy whom she believed Jesus
had sent to guide her, and who was also her own fellow-countryman.