Miss Churchill continued to explain.
"She has started a sort of _Salon des Causes Perdues_ in the Faubourg Saint Germain." She was recording the vagaries of my aunt.

The Duc laughed.
"Ah, yes," he said, "what a menagerie--Carlists, and Orleanists, and Papal Blacks.

I wonder she has not held a bazaar in favour of your White Rose League." "Ah, yes," I echoed, "I have heard that she was mad about the divine right of kings." Miss Churchill rose, as ladies rise at the end of a dinner.

I followed her out of the room, in obedience to some minute signal.
We were on the best of terms--we two.

She mothered me, as she mothered everybody not beneath contempt or above a certain age.