They were sitting at the end of the terrace walk that evening--the end near little Charlotte's balcony; it was a mild, still evening--it seemed less dreary and miserable than in the house; from the distance came the sound of the children playing in the old streets, and near at hand some birds were singing still--for children will play and birds will sing whatever happens.

Suddenly a sound close at hand made Mademoiselle Jeanne look up.

And I too, for I was close beside them on the terrace, I looked up in amazement, half imagining it must be a dream.

For we heard--both Mademoiselle Jeanne and I knew it again--the sound of the window on to the balcony opening, the window through which the little English girl used to come out to meet her friends.

We looked and could scarcely believe our eyes.