The cause of this elevation is worthy of note. It was, in fact, none other than the reference to Anne—and yet not so much the reference itself as the manner in which this was made. The prelate, you will remember, was no fool.
For that matter, he was not a god, either. Consequently, the counsel which he presently offered his niece had to be communicated by the material channel of the "common or garden" post, and was, in fact, nearing Modane when Valerie rounded the edge of a belt of Scotch firs in Hampshire to come upon Anthony Lyveden regarding an old finger-post in some perplexity.
As my lady came up, Lyveden uncovered and pointed to a weather-beaten arm, upon which the words FRANCE 4 MILES were still discernible.
"Can you help me?" he said.
Valerie smiled.
"I think so. This is a very old post—over a hundred years old. You know Hawthorne?"
"I ought to."
"Well, once upon a time the village was called France. But during the
Napoleonic wars the name was changed. For obvious reasons."
"And they forgot to alter this?" said Anthony, nodding at the cracked grey wood.
Valerie shook her head.