A great distinction has survived everything, has it not?'
'Yes. She is beautiful; and distinguished, in spite of everything,' mused Jill. The 'everything' to which she referred, however, was not destitution or misfortune. The old lady was a person to whom one would forgive much. She wondered how much she had given Mademoiselle Ludérac to forgive.
Joseph opened to them at the Manoir. 'Du thé, Joseph,' said Marthe Ludérac. A stranger might have said that she spoke very tersely to the old man. But Jill was no longer a stranger. It was because affection was so secure that the tone was so short. Joseph's reply revealed as much.
'Mademoiselle will not drink tea herself.'
'Well, what of that? Madame will drink it, and Madame la comtesse.'
'It is not wholesome, so much tea. Moreover, the milk has not yet come,' grumbled the old man.
'But there is milk still left from this morning!' cried Marthe, and her capacity for sudden vehemence was touching and amusing.
'Only a half cup. The animals have had the rest.'
'That is quite sufficient. A half cup is all that will be necessary.—And the petits beurres.—Allons, allons, Joseph. Do not stand there arguing. Let the tea be ready at half-past four.'
'Since Mademoiselle does not drink it herself, I have no more to say,' Joseph replied with an air of
