She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. “Jacques is wounded and we are arrested by this imbecile of a sergeant. Those were dreams. ‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French. “You need have no further trouble.
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